


rarely soft or consolatory

by lannisqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Modern Westeros, POV Cersei Lannister, POV Jaime Lannister, Sibling Incest, marital rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannisqueen/pseuds/lannisqueen
Summary: Robert had broken the rules. She owed him an answer for the bruise to her face. Lannister's always paid their debts.





	1. Chapter 1

Never in the face. That was the rule. Their marriage was one that had few rules really. They’d all but spit on the typical rules outlined by civilized society, those things that married people were supposed to do or be. They paid lip service to convention in public, and in private, they had their informal rules. Robert demanded that Cersei not question him about his affairs. Cersei demanded that he never bring his bastards within her sight. Robert demanded that her legs open for him when the urge to fuck her struck him. Cersei demanded that he never leave a mark where someone could see. 

Robert had broken the rules. 

Trying to cover the bruise had only served to put her in more pain, but there was little that could be done about that. Cersei had started to grind her teeth until the habit reminded her of Stannis; Stannis was often times even less tolerable than Robert was with him grim and dour aura. Cersei would rather have choked than do anything that might resemble the behavior of one of her in-laws. Unfortunately, there was little else Cersei could do and she gingerly applied make up to the bruise that discolored the majority of her face. 

She wouldn’t have bothered to cover the mark, but for the fact that it was necessary. Really, Cersei had gotten quite a lot of pleasure from the look on Robert’s face the morning after the incident, when he’d been forced to see his handiwork. The bruise was undoubtedly from his hand, even he could not deny it. His jaw had nearly dropped into his coffee, revealing the chip in his tooth. It was interesting: seeing the bruise on her face brought him shame, but seeing other bruises had done nothing to stop him from hitting her whereas Cersei took great pleasure from the sight of the chipped tooth that she’d given him, but had never raised a finger to inflict another wound upon him. Perhaps she would have if Robert had gotten the veneers that Renly was always urging him to get. 

But Robert was gone for the day, and the man that Cersei would next see would feel neither pleasure nor shame at the sight of the purple mark across her cheek. No, Jaime would be furious. Cersei wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing that Jaime was a world away. If he’d been there, Robert would have lost a hand, if not more for striking her. For years, Cersei had barely been able to keep her twin from striking two blows for every one that landed on Cersei. A blow to her face would mean that Jaime would be on the next flight home, ready to kill Robert in brutal fashion.

And yes, Cersei wished for her husband to be dead, but what would be the point if Jaime ended up in jail? Lannister money could buy a great many things, but it wouldn’t be enough to buy Jaime out of a prison cell if he stormed back to her and slaughtered Robert the moment that he found him. It was a pretty picture though, and a familiar fantasy of Cersei’s. It was the sweetest of her dreams, after the ones where she and Jaime could marry, of course. Sometimes the two dreams merged. Jaime would arrive on a white horse and the sun would gleam off his golden hair, the same shade as his sword (no matter how outdated it was, Jaime always had a grand sword in her fantasies). Jaime would cut Robert to ribbons, and his blood, crimson as a Lannister banner, would decorate the feast for her wedding to Jaime. Not that such a thing could ever be. Even Lannister’s could not afford to marry their brothers.

So neither of her greatest dreams could come to be. She could not marry Jaime nor could Jaime kill her husband. That did not mean that Cersei could not, would not be rid of him. She merely had to be smart about it was all. The first step of that was finishing putting on her face and making the call to Jaime as was their custom. She needed Jaime well out of the way if Cersei was going to enact her plans.

Robert had broken the rules. She owed him an answer for the bruise to her face. Lannister's always paid their debts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Jaime would likely be cross with her when he learned of it, but she’d reveal all to him when she was done. Perhaps she’d save him Lancel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update since these chapters are short<3 I can't promise that there will be another tomorrow, but we'll see what happens!

“You should tell your father. Tywin will not stand for this!”

Did Lancel think that all his bluster would make him seem more like Jaime? Cersei knew that Lancel idolized her twin, it was obvious from the way that his chest puffed out anytime anyone put his name and Jaime’s in the same sentence, but running to Lord Tywin was the last thing that Jaime would ever have suggested. Jaime would have already beaten his knuckles bloody on Robert’s jaw if he could have seen the remnants of the bruise that Lancel saw now. Cersei had never been grateful for a slow internet connection and grainy images, but she had been that night that she spoke with him, heard him brag of his work like it was a battle in some great civil war. Cersei supposed in a way it was. The Stark’s had always denied that they were in competition with the Lannister’s, but then they denied most everything in order to appear unassuming but honorable. 

Of course, Cersei had started to digress and Lancel was still blustering on about what her father would do if he knew what Robert had done. As if Lancel knew any more about Tywin than he did Jaime. As if Tywin would have rallied his men, a glorified private army (though none would dare call it that) and march to defend his daughter’s honor. No, Tywin would have taken one look at the bruise and asked Cersei what she had done to deserve it, why Robert did not love her better, why she could not accomplish what even whores could. There would be no great march to hold Robert accountable, but Cersei did not need one. If she had been taken hostage, if an ear or finger was cut off and set to Tywin for a ransom, that would have motivated him to move. But a husband striking his wife? At best Tywin might call in some of Robert’s debts, accrued for the whores, the drink, and the campaigns that Ned Stark and Jon Arryn had pushed Robert to run. They knew the people loved him, and they intended to use that. Just as Tywin did. Robert was an asset to Lord Tywin and striking Cersei was not enough to move him from that category to that of a liability. 

Let Tywin keep his balance sheet. Cersei had other plans. Just as she’d had other plans for Jaime. Tywin Lannister had not gotten his way with his heir, but Cersei had. It was one victory in a field filled with loses, but it was one that _mattered_. Cersei had been married off to a brute. Had been forced to smile and wave from the back of campaign buses. Had been denied a place at the board meeting.

She didn’t need one though.

She needed Lancel to stop blustering.

“Lancel-” her voice was quiet but he stopped speaking almost immediately. “I did not call you here to tell me how bad this looks. I’ve mirrors plenty for that.” Cersei’s lips twitched up in a weak smile that had Lancel sinking to his knees before her position at the vanity. “I called you here because I wish to focus on something else for a time.” 

Lancel went to take her hands which had been folded in her lap, and Cersei had to resist the impulse to pull her hands away. There was something about his hands that seemed wrong. They were not calloused as they ought to have been; sometimes she thought them softer than her own. 

Thankfully, Lancel seemed to take her annoyance for uneasiness. He was trying to comfort her, as if his slim shoulders would be sturdy enough were she to weep for him the way that he seemed to crave. There was one person that Cersei would allow to see her tears, and he was the one person that wouldn’t have needed to see them. Yes, Jaime was her comfort, but Jaime would not have preferred to see her in tears, to see her weak. With Jaime, she could cry on his shoulder and he would soothe her, but if she wished to pace and rage, he’d have encouraged that as well until she’d worked them both up enough and he’d silence her with a kiss. 

Cersei could feel a slight dampness between her thighs as she thought about Jaime’s kisses. She missed him. FaceTiming with him wasn’t enough, even when he told her all of the things that he’d have done to her had he been there. If he was there she’d have had his kisses, but she’d also have had his brashness, his jealousy. Cersei needed his lips, but his brashness and jealousy would spoil all of the plans that she was making. Jaime would want to kill Robert himself, but Cersei needed him well alibi-ed half a world away. Besides, why allow Jaime the pleasure of killing him when Cersei intended to take that pleasure for herself? Sure, Jaime would likely be cross with her when he learned of it, but she’d reveal all to him when she was done. Perhaps she’d save him Lancel. All she’d have to do is tell him how Lancel had slid his hand up her thigh in the name of comforting her. 

Or perhaps it was to get her attention as he was asking about where her thoughts had gone. Cersei summoned her best watery smile to grace him with as she turned. “I wish I had some way to protect myself when I’m alone with him. “One time I tried sleeping with a knife under my pillow, but when Robert came to my bed, he only laughed.” That had never happened, but she didn’t want to waste time with some foolish training montage where Lancel would try to use teaching her some hand to hand combat as an excuse to brush up against her. She lacked the patience for that, and wanted him to quickly reach the point that she needed him to reach. 

“I could get you a gun. No one would have to know.”

_Bingo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's a bit slow for you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin intervened before Jaime need say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: idk when i'll update this again  
also me: -wraps up an update the next night-
> 
> I hope that you enjoy!

He made a mental note to buy shares in every tech company that he could so that he would never have to see her face so pixelated again. Cersei’s features were more beautiful than those of any woman her age had a right to be and he wanted to actually see them, not just view some of her features with others obscured by flesh colored boxes. Granted, sometimes he did enjoy when the screen paused and her face was frozen, but undistorted. By now Jaime had thousands of pictures of Cersei that she had already deemed unflattering, but apart from the ones she sent him to keep him warm on lonely nights, he preferred these screenshots from their conversations over the photographs that she posed for. When she posed, all the artifice was there once more. She wasn’t _his_ Cersei in those moments. But these moments, these screenshots from their conversations, those were the moment when she was most his. He had photographs of her annoyance with him for leaving, and had photographs of her smiles when she told him of something that had amused her. Photo after photo. Cersei. As only Jaime was permitted to see her. 

Of course, this time, this conversation, she was hardly all smiles and story-telling. Something was bothering her, and it was more than the fact that he’d left without saying goodbye to her. He should have said goodbye to her. As much as he loathed the necessity of bidding her farewell at times, he did rather enjoy the act of having her see him off. Sure, she was venomous at first, but eventually she relented. She always relented. 

Still, this time he’d actually _had_ to rush away. After the altercation with Ned Stark, he needed an alibi, and Tywin had arranged for Jaime to be on a plane (which was of course recorded as having landed several hours earlier than it actually had) to the Riverlands. Jaime could hardly be blamed for an assault on Ned Stark if he was half a world away helping Tywin to compete with a different Stark for a valuable weapons contract. 

Cersei had appreciated his excuses as much as she’d appreciated his attack on Ned Stark. Still, Jaime knew that wasn’t what had been bothering her. When he was so far away, he was severely limited in his means of persuasion, and as such, he’d been unable to pry it out of her. And, in his defense, she had rather easily distracted him with how sweetly she’d told him that she’d missed him as she’d opened her robe. Jaime had spent the morning following their conversation thinking about how sweet it had been. When he remembered it in the morning, it was without all the hiccups in her voice due to buffering.

And of course,his time with his camera roll and memories of Cersei made him late for his meeting with his father. Tardiness was not appreciated by Tywin Lannister, and he could make as much known with a single glare of green eyes, flecked with gold. “As I was saying, the Stark weapons are old fashioned, out of date. It is ridiculous that they should even entertain the boy.” Lord Tywin grumbled, no doubt irritated that Robb Stark had beaten out for the past few contracts that Tywin had tried to win.

“The boy is as inexperienced as the Stark’s weapons are dated.” Uncle Kevan offered, Tywin’s greatest hype man as ever.   
“Well, perhaps now that we have our own young stud, the tides shall turn! Jaime’s visage is far more persuasive than mine!” Tyrion clapped his brother on the bicep before pouring himself another bloody mary. Judging by the glares of Tywin, Kevan, and the assembled counselors, Jaime imagined that it was hardly Tyrion’s second drink of the morning. “One smile from Jaime, and they shall forget all about Robb Stark and his _clunky canon_.” Tywin remained unmoved, but it was no matter as Kevan winced on his behalf. 

“If you really want to sell something, ask Cersei to sell it the way that she’s sold Barbarthian.” Ordinarily, Jaime might have snickered at the nickname his friend had used for Cersei’s husband, but he was far too irritated by his friend’s comment to find the amusement in it, but Addam had erred by his invocation of Cersei. 

“My daughter is not some harlot for hire.” _But that didn’t stop you from selling her to Robert Baratheon, did it, Father?_ Jaime longed to snap, but instead his mouth simply drew sharply closed. Tyrion, his hand still on Jaime’s bicep, shot his brother a glance loaded with sympathy. Perhaps he’d felt Jaime tense and he had felt guilty. Though truly, Addam’s suggestion for Cersei had varied very little from Tyrion’s suggestion for Jaime. It struck him that Cersei might like that. She was always fond of any time that she and he were treated in the same way. 

“Indeed she is not!” Jaime was relieved that someone had come to her defense before he had needed to remove their tongues. Yet his relief was short lived. “She is a prostitute for power!” Tyrion finished, causing Jaime’s jaw to twitch as it threatened to turn into a snarl. 

Tywin intervened before Jaime need say anything. His eyebrow raised and silence fell. “Leave us.” The room cleared, with all but Kevan clearing with little more than a few clearings of throat and shuffling. Kevan had raised a brow in question, but Tywin’s fixed stare had even Kevan turning and leaving without much fuss. All but Tyrion and Jaime. Whether Tyrion had stayed out of defiance or because he knew that Tywin wished to reprimand him, Jaime did not know, but he stayed as Jaime had. “Your sister has done her duty as a Lannister.” Tywin said once everyone had dissipated. “Which is more than I can say for either of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys see any typos, do me a solid and lmk. I've got no beta reader so here we are


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wanted to take ownership of her body again.

The quiet buzzing of Cersei’s vibrator was masked by the thundering of Robert’s snores as he laid in the bed beside her, reeking of cheap beer. She could still taste it from when he’d forced her lips apart to push his tongue inside of her mouth. He seemed to think that sex would be an acceptable apology and perhaps it would have been if he had every been able to satisfy her even once throughout their marriage. But how could he satisfy her when all he cared about was blindly thrusting inside of her? Robert simply wanted to force his way in and deluded himself into thinking that he was good at it. 

She wanted to take ownership of her body again. Normally she sought Jaime out for that though. Jaime would have drawn her into a bath with him, caressed her skin with fingers and kisses. He’d chase away any lingering memory of Robert. Failing distracting her, he’d promise violence in her name. The idea of that was helping Cersei to conjure up a mental image to satisfy herself. She thought of Jaime’s lips as she continued to stroke herself, trying to claim her body as her own again. The more that she thought of Jaime, the wetter she became. Her hips bucked and her breathing became shorter. She pictured Jaime on the night that Joffrey had been conceived, on how attentive Jaime had been. It was a happy memory for Cersei and she let out a low moan.

Sometimes she wished that Robert would wake up and see her tending to herself after he forced coupling on her. See how inadequate he was. Would it shock him? Would it anger him? Cersei tried to conjure up an image of shock and shame on his face, but she couldn’t. All she could imagine was that he might see her like this and instead of thinking that there was fault in him for leaving her unsatisfied, he might assume that he’d actually left her wanting more and try to take her again. 

That thought had her raking her hands over her face in frustration. She wanted to finish. On her own terms. She wanted Jaime. Calling him would be the next best thing. Perhaps he could coax her to finish with the call. Or she could go and find Lancel. Lancel could give her touch and if she drank enough wine, perhaps she could pretend that he was Jaime. Well, Jaime perhaps many years prior when they were still learning the other’s body and what they liked best. Lancel would offer sloppy kisses and enthusiasm, but he would hardly leave Cersei feeling less irritable. 

The vibrator buzzed, discarded, on the bed in the space between her legs. Cersei grabbed at it angrily to turn it off and shove it in her bedside drawer. Robert simply continued to snore. It wouldn’t be long until Cersei no longer had to endure this. Lancel had gotten her the gun that he promised her. It was a dainty thing. Some sort of revolver with a pearl handle. No doubt he thought that the aesthetics of it would please her. It hardly fitting for her plans, but it would do to learn on. 

Tywin had never let Cersei learn to fire weapons. He considered them to be something for men. On their eighth birthday, Jaime had been given a paintball gun to learn on. Cersei had asked what she got, none of her presents were remotely weapon shaped. She’d been given gilded combs and a mirror to match. They still sat on Cersei’s vanity now. At the time, and for years after, that had made her so bitter. She’d hated that she and Jaime were treated differently. But now it would be her defense. Lancel had gotten her a gun and was teaching her to shoot it, the only one that knew she was learning to shoot. That was part of the plan. 

Lancel enjoyed wrapping her in his arms to teach her to aim and fire; Cersei could tell by the way that he nearly always pushed his erection into her back when he was teaching her to fire in secret. She was getting better. If she hadn’t had to stop so often to suffer Lancel’s pawing at her, she might have been even further along still. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad. Mostly when she was able to pretend that he was Jaime, though those moments were rare. Lancel was serving his purpose though.

“It won’t be long now.” Cersei whispered as she turned toward Robert and watched his heaving chest. “These may be your last breaths.” The thought brought a smile to Cersei’s face. Soon she would be free of Robert. That thought kept her going. “Soon you will die and rot in the ground.” And Cersei would thrive. Robert would die, and he’d never bruise her nor touch her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime would have seen through this. Jaime would have seen through her attempts to manipulate him, but Lancel was not Jaime.

Jaime’s hands slide down her arms, pulling them into place to aim at the target. Cersei wanted to lean back into his chest, but the moment that she did, the illusion was shattered. It wasn’t Jaime, but rather Lancel behind her. Suddenly the hands were too soft to be Jaime’s, and Cersei was left more frustrated than she had been at missing the target. Well, she’d been missing lately. It seemed that the more that Lancel guided her, the more her bullets went astray. Naturally, Lancel wanted to comfort and soothe, to coach her. It irritated Cersei that she needed his help. Well, at first she’d needed his help. Lately it seemed as though his attempts to help her aim more actually making her miss the target.

“Don’t you think it’s time for something bigger?” Cersei purred, letting her weight shift to rest more on Lancel’s. He stumbled slightly, as if unprepared. Cersei was grateful that her back was toward his so that he could not see the flare of irritation that colored her features before she could stop it. Granted, she was not much shorter than Lancel, but he should have been able to withstand her weight with ease. Jaime could have. Cersei could have beaten her fists against Jaime’s broad shoulders and he would not have moved. It was just another reminder of the fact that Jaime wasn’t there and Cersei was forced to make due with Lancel.

As she’d expected, there was a blush on Lancel’s cheeks when she turned to face him. “I meant a bigger gun, Lancel.” Cersei head tilted coquettishly as she resisted the urge to choke on the saccharine words dripping from her lips. Jaime would have seen through this. Jaime would have seen through her attempts to manipulate him, but Lancel was not Jaime. Gods, it pained Cersei to think of how much Lancel was not Jaime. Still, she had to make do with Lancel. And besides, Cersei clung to the idea that by using Lancel, she was giving Jaime a solid alibi, the chance to be above reproach after all of the nonsense with Aerys. 

The old president had been voted out. No one wanted him, and so he’d used his last few months in office to ravage the country, and to even try to launch weapons against the people that he’d once ruled. Jaime had stopped that. Not that anyone cared. An inquiry had cleared Jaime of wrongdoing, but they’d hardly pinned a medal on his chest. Jaime deserved better than the lot of them. He deserved to wrapped in Cersei’s arms and legs each night and to walk down the street holding her hand. As did she. She deserved better than Lancel. Better than Robert. 

And she would have it. First she simply had to play the game. She tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and smiled at Lancel. Cersei could be charming when she’d a mind to be; she’d been taught to smile, curtsy, and sing even through her teeth if need be. Now it was necessary to charm Lancel. “Think of how delighted my father will be when I go hunting with all of you at Thanksgiving and tell him how you taught me to shoot. With your help, perhaps I’ll be the one to get the turkey.” There was an air of girlish hope to her voice, one that she expected would have him puffing out his chest with pride. If he was stupid enough to think that Lord Tywin would delight in his daughter going hunting, then he deserved what was coming to him. Luckily for Cersei, Lancel was indeed a fool. 

“I thought that you didn’t want anyone to know that I was teaching you.” Lancel raised an excellent point. One which Cersei had to think how best to address. 

“I want it to be a surprise!” she cooed, stepping toward him so that her hips brushed against his. Cersei could feel him harden with her touch. Of course he did. It was a pity he wasn’t any better at fucking her than Robert was. Really, it took thinking of Jaime cutting him down in a jealous rage for Cersei to get any sort of enjoyment out of Lancel’s touch. 

Still, Lancel seemed plenty fooled by her simpering. His arms wrapped around her waist and his chest puffed with pride. Gods, Cersei wished that she could take him down a peg, but unfortunately, she still needed him. “And you will tell your father that I was the one that taught you?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course.” Cersei responded with a smile. And then right afterwards she would serve him up to Jaime on a silver platter. In the meantime, she had to play her part. “Why don’t you bring down one of the hunting rifles to teach me?” Her fingers walked up his arm and she smiled at him. “I bet that I could handle the blow back of a rifle if you were there holding me.” she offered. 

As she’d anticipated, his back bowed under his inflated chest and ego. “I shall never let you go.” Lancel swore, and Cersei could not restrain her smile. 

“Then bring a rifle down so that you can hold me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not sure when the next update will be. Work has been a disaster after a disaster. Next chapter could be tomorrow, or could possibly be a week from now. As always, please let me know your thoughts. My Libra ass lives for comments


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I give her half an hour before she marches back to the cabin to get herself some wine.” Renly smirked.

Why did they have to come along? Joffrey had been asking himself that question the entire drive up to the cabin in the woods, stewing and glaring at his little brother’s napping form in equal measure. He didn’t want them to come along. Mother hated hunting. And Tommen? Tommen was a baby! It wasn’t fair. No doubt Mother would expect him to look after Tommen on the hunt as she poured herself a glass of wine and waited back in the cabin. He’d never impress Father if he had his little brother tagging along with him. This was to be the first year that Father and Mother had agreed to let him actually hunt rather than just be one of the ones chasing the prey into some trap for the men that were armed. Well, agreement was perhaps an understatement. His father had wanted him armed. Mother hadn’t. Mother had insisted he was too young. She was always trying to coddle him as she did Tommen. Father had set her to rights though. Joffrey still remembered the smacking sound of his father’s hand striking his mother’s flesh after he’d shouted at her to be quiet. She hadn’t cried out in pain. Joffrey had thought he might have struck her ass until he’d peeked around the doorframe to see his mother on the floor clutching her cheek. That had been over a month ago, and Joffrey still wasn’t certain how he felt about it. On the one hand, women were supposed to obey, that was what father always taught him, but on the other, seeing his mother hurt had left an uneasy feeling in his stomach which Joffrey didn’t like to dwell on. So he didn’t. Now that he thought about it, that was likely the reason that Mother had come along, no doubt to spite his father. 

They rode in silence, aside from Tommen mumbling in his sleep until even Joffrey drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, it was to several notifications letting him know that Sansa Stark had gone and liked nearly every photograph on his Instragram page. Apparently no one had taught her how such things worked before she’d been come South as her father worked alongside Joffrey’s. It was as if she didn’t know that he could see when she liked a photo. Oh well, she was pretty. Very pretty. Pretty enough that she could be a little stupid and Joffrey would still like her. Actually, he perhaps preferred it. Myrcella was pretty and smart and she always manage to turn his words around on him and make him look foolish. If he had to choose, he was glad that Mother had brought Tommen instead of Myrcella. 

Hours later, Joffrey was still stewing over his mother and brother’s presence. Especially when his grandfather arrived. Everyone practically stood at attention to salute when his grandfather entered. He didn’t understand why. Sure, years ago Tywin might have been important, but what had he done in Joffrey’s life time? Just because he’d been someone back in the day didn’t make him important now. At least not in Joffrey’s opinion. Though, when his grandfather fixed him with those pale green eyes, flecked with gold, Joffrey felt the urge to reconsider that position. 

Grandfather’s gaze could subdue even the usually boisterous Uncle Renly. Though, that was for the best perhaps. Renly liked to tease Joffrey and somehow he was always better at coming up with retorts than Joffrey was. It was nearly as bad as Myrcella, though at least Renly was older so it made sense that he was smarter. 

With Tywin’s looming presence, dinner passed without much affair. Other than a few questions about how Uncle Jaime was faring against the Stark boy (why did the Stark boy get to handle business while Joffrey had to practically beg for even a crossbow? Robb wasn’t that much older than him.) and Lancel trying to fawn over Grandfather. Tywin showed as little interest as Mother did when Lancel tried to charm her too, although the latter disgusted Joffrey rather than amuse him. He wished Father would say something at the very least, if not strike Lancel across the room as he had Mother. Instead, his father just sat there, downing ale after ale. “Father, can I have some of that?” Joffrey’s question had shocked most of the table out of their dull conversation. Perhaps it would make his parents argue again. Joffrey was happy to provoke an argument between them when he knew that his mother would not get hit. Father wouldn’t have dared with Tywin there, but perhaps if they argued, she would take Tommen and go. Or Grandfather would force her to leave. 

Joffrey waited for the argument, but it never came. Robert burst out laughing, his father laughing at him was worse than Myrcella’s or Renly’s teasing. “Alright, might put some hair on that bloody chin of yours. When I was your age, I had a beard that went near down to my breast plate!” Robert boomed and Joffrey’s ears turned red. 

“He can have one.” Mother replied, though Joffrey could tell from her face that there was something else that she wished to say. Was it Father or Grandfather that had forced her to hold her tongue? Probably Grandfather. Mother always cared more about Grandfather than Father. Really, Joffrey had no idea why his parents had remained married for all of these years. They could barely tolerate each other. He knew what Father gained from their marriage: money to fund his campaigns, and an attractive wife. He didn’t know what Mother gained though. It had to be something, though that too was something that Joffrey didn’t like thinking about.

He’d already lost interest in the beer by the time that it was slid before him. Still, everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to drink. Not wishing to look the fool, Joffrey grabbed the beer and downed as much of it as he could bear, and then more to try to match the amount of time that Father drank his beer or Mother pulled at her wine. He couldn’t do it. The bubbles had his eyes watering and the bitter taste was far worse than he’d expected. Robert burst out laughing for the second time and Joffrey realized that his plan had backfired spectacularly. “It’s good. I want another!” He declared, his chin raised as if waiting for a challenge. 

“That’s enough, Joffrey. You’ll need your wits about your for the hunt tomorrow.” came his mother’s quiet voice. 

“I can-” Joffrey was cut off as Tommen reached for the bottle.

“I want to try!” the little boy declared. 

“Enough.” Mother was coming around the table now. Joffrey wasn’t sure whether his stomach turned due to the beer or the fact that both Lancel and Father turned to stare at her ass as she came around the table and bent to pick Tommen up. “Tommen, you can have an apple cake upstairs after your bath.” she said as she strained to carry the seven year old up the stairs to bed. 

With her gone, Joffrey took another swig of the beer. “Father, can I have another?” There was still a chance that he could get them to quarrel, to have Mother take Tommen and go, but his father shook his head and sent him to bed once the first beer was finished. 

It was still dark out when Joffrey awoke the next morning. His father was unusually pleased given the early hour of the morning, and his mother seemed exceptionally miserable. It served her right for tagging along with them. Joffrey watched as Tommen stumbled in, a bright orange vest and a helmet to match over his camouflage outfit. “Why is it still dark?” Tommen mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

“We have to get an early start, idiot.” Joffrey sneered. 

“Joffrey.” Grandfather said his name once, and then fixed him with a stare that had Joff sinking in his seat. “Go and get your brother breakfast.”

“Make Mother do it! What else did she come all the way here for!”

“Joffrey.” Tywin Lannister’s gaze held firmly on his grandson until even Tommen had started to squirm in his seat. 

“I can get it-” Tommen started, but stopped moving with a look from his grandfather. Silence hung between them, and Joffrey could feel the weight of his grandfather’s stare until his mother stepped toward them, setting a plate full of eggs and sausages in front of both brothers. Joffrey brightened considerably, counting his mother’s actions as a victory for himself in a battle of wills against his grandfather.

“I don’t know why we hired someone to cook, but not to serve breakfast.” Cersei snapped before sitting down next to Tommen and fussing with the chin strap of his helmet. 

“He doesn’t need a bloody helmet.” Joffrey heard his father say, though his voice lacked some of the rancor that it usually held when he spoke to Cersei. There was still hope that she might remain inside. They could argue over this and then she would stay inside with Tommen. And then Joffrey could prove himself to Father by getting the first kill. Maybe he’d manage a deer! Father would have loved that. 

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no such luck in getting his parents to quarrel. His mother snapped something about wanting to keep him safe, to which his father replied something about her coddling Tommen too much, but he seemed amused rather than annoyed. The only thing worse than being stuck with Tommen was when his father and mother tried to pretend like they were some happy family. Joffrey wasn’t sure whether the show was for his grandfather’s benefit, or if perhaps his father was trying to make things up to her since he’d bruised her face, but Joffrey didn’t want to watch it. He took out his phone and posted a flame emoji under one of the Stark girl’s photos and imagined that it would make her day. He liked to imagine that she would take a photo of the post and them excitedly send it to all of her friends to gush about him. As she should. It occurred to him that he ought to ask her to the Winter Formal (they were too young for Prom). Make some gallant romantic gesture. She’d like that. Girls always did. 

Thoughts of impressing Sansa (and therefore everyone else when they saw how sweet he was to her) filled Joffrey’s head as he finished his breakfast. Before he knew it, it was time to leave. Joffrey tried to hide his excitement as he stepped outside, pointing his crossbow in random directions. 

“Put that away before you put an eye out.” Tywin called, drawing Joffrey’s attention. His grandfather was standing near a man with several hounds, all of which were barking. Joffrey didn’t know the man. He had a plain face, pale with no beard, but his eyes were disquieting; there seemed to be something wrong with how pale they were. Still the man must have been someone worthwhile if he’d been granted a private audience with Tywin Lannister. Joffrey began to head over to them, but his grandfather held up a hand. The stranger departed then, turning over the leashes to a man that Joffrey did recognize: the Hound. “You saw no one.” Tywin said, and passed his grandson without another word. Not that Joffrey was interested in the stranger any longer. 

“You there, dog!” the boy called out. “Are you here to fetch what I kill? Or are you here to help my mother wrap Tommen in a bubble of plastic wrap?” Joffrey sneered, mistaking his statement to be the highest sort of humor. 

Sandor Clegane had once been Mother’s dog, but now he was more often assigned to Joffrey. “I’m here to make sure that you don’t put your own eye out with that thing.” The large man muttered. 

The response brought a scowl to Joffrey’s face. “I know how to use it! Better than you, Dog!” The large man let out a bark of laughter in response, which grew louder as Joffrey turned on his heel, ready to complain to his father that he didn’t need a babysitter, but his father was already disappearing into the trees with Renly and a few others. Only Mother and Tommen remained behind, waiting expectantly for Joffrey to return across the lawn. “Look at that! Dogs leading a dog!” Joffrey cried out, looking for someone to take his anger out upon, but no one laughed, and instead, his mother only looked impatient. 

They finally met up with the group at the very moment that his father was assigning tasks to everyone. To his delight, Tommen would be going with the group set to run the deer into the ravine while Joffrey got to stay up atop the hill with his father. Still, his delight was short lived as Robert handed one of the rifles over to Cersei. Joffrey assumed that she was as shocked as him as she appeared surprised, but there was something else on her face, something that Joffrey hadn’t seen before and couldn’t distinguish what it was. “You expect me to hit something?” his mother asked slowly, and there was something in her voice that was odd too, though Joffrey decided to dismiss it as nerves.

“Seven hells of course not!” Finally, his father seemed irritated with her after all of Joffrey’s efforts to provoke her had been to no avail. “We both know that you’re not going to run after the deer with the rest to chase them into the ravine. You’re going to go find some and fire that off to scare them so the rest can chase them.” It seemed like the simplest thing in the world, and Joffrey knew that his father was right. His mother was hardly the type to run, and this would get her out of the way so that Joffrey wouldn’t have her hovering over him when he tried to take out one of the deer. “Just aim it up in the air and it will set them all off running.”

“Robert, I don’t know how to fire this.” There was that strange tone in her voice again. 

“For the Smith’s sake, woman, it’s not that hard.” He stepped over to Cersei, dwarfing her as he wrapped his arms behind her, pulled hers into position with the gun despite her struggling. 

“Cersei, I seem to recall you being angry that I always took Jaime hunting rather than you, this is your chance to prove to me that I made the mistake that you’re so fond of accusing me of making.” Tywin said coolly. Finally, there was a look on his mother’s face that Joffrey recognized: fury colored with embarrassment. His father yanked her arms into place, their fingers barely fitting in the trigger together, and fired one round up into the trees, sending birds into flight around them. 

“There, now you know what the blow back will feel like.” Robert said gruffly. Joffrey expected her to make some sort of retort about how she was to find the deer, but instead his mother simply stalked away, leaving them alone. “That should convince her not to come next time.” Robert muttered once Cersei was out of ear shot.

“I give her half an hour before she marches back to the cabin to get herself some wine.” Renly smirked. 

“Give her an hour. She’s stubborn.” Sandor returned.

The conversation lingered on Cersei for only a few more moments before they began to head further into the woods to find a place to set themselves up overlooking the ravine. And it was not for several hours that the conversation returned to her. By then, the sun had begun to set and they’d made their way back to the cabin. His mother was nowhere to be found and the wine was untouched. “Seven hells, I’ll go and find her.” Robert muttered once they’d searched the house and tried her cellphone. 

Not long after that, a woman’s scream followed by a gunshot sent the whole cabin running back toward the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I don't know how Joffrey's chapter became longer than almost all the other chapters combined, but here we are. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But eventually, no matter how many times she’d tried to see every possibility, to rip out every weed that grew under the guise of offering a sweet bloom, Cersei could not resist the low hanging fruit that ripened on the tree before her.

Cersei Lannister had a curious relationship with the supposed virtue of patience. There were not many that would have considered her to be patient. The same sin could be laid at Jaime’s feet though. How many times had Jaime chosen to slice a knot in two rather than toil and trouble to unravel it? By all accounts, neither twin possessed much patience. But then, by all accounts, Cersei’s children were Robert’s. By all accounts, Jaime was her brother, not her lover. No one knew the truth of them. Cersei had played the dutiful daughter, the pliant wife, and all of that had required the sort of patience that none would have thought her capable of possessing. She would use that to her advantage. Just as she’d been using Lancel to her advantage. 

And she had intended to be even more patient. She’d intended for this hunt to be the first of many to come before she’d acted on her plans. She’d intended to wait until the time was right. She’d intended to try to be patient. Yet opportunity had unfurled its wings before her, begging her to jump aboard, and how could she overlook such an opportunity ? Robert had put the gun in her hands. He’d actually put the gun in her hands himself! How could she overlook such an opportunity? 

Still, the longer that Cersei spent waiting in the woods, the more she wondered if things had perhaps been too easy. Could the Gods truly have gifted her with such an opportunity so quickly? They’d never answered her prayers, why would they give her this gift now? 

The questions plagued Cersei throughout the day. She was alone with her thoughts, hardly her favorite place to be. Cersei would much rather have been wrapped up in Jaime’s arms, his cock inside of her. But instead she was here. Alone. Left to pace in the woods. Trying to determine whether she ought to take advantage of this opportunity or whether it was some sort of false friend, some trap dressed in the guise of a gift. 

But eventually, no matter how many times she’d tried to see every possibility, to rip out every weed that grew under the guise of offering a sweet bloom, Cersei could not resist the low hanging fruit that ripened on the tree before her. She knew she ought to be cautious that it might be poisonous, but such doubts were hard to heed when such deliciousness was promised by the appearance of Robert muttering his way through the trees without his neon hunting vest to distinguish him from the trees. He was alone. He didn’t even shout her name. All he did was stumble through the trees, cursing her under his breath. 

The end of the rifle kicked back into her shoulder, but the only thing that Cersei could feel was a giddiness as she heard Robert cry out in pain. Her heart raised in her chest. Someone would have heard the shot. Now came the time to perform. Still, Cersei allowed herself a moment to smile until the corners of her mouth had begun to hurt. And then she screamed as loudly as she could. This would be the most important performance she’d ever given and the most delicate. Her actions would not simply be accepted the way that Robert had eagerly lapped up her feigned orgasms at the start of their marriage. This performance would be scrutinized by everyone she knew. 

Robert was on the ground when she made her way through the trees. “I said fire the bloody gun up! Not into the fucking trees, woman!” Even dying, he was an ass. Cersei thought that perhaps she ought to put him out of his misery, but she could hear the others running deep into the woods to find them. One shot could be explained. 

“Are you hurt, my love?” The words tasted like vinegar on Cersei’s tongue, but she comforted herself with the idea that she wouldn’t have to say them much longer.

“Of course I’m bloody hurt! You shot me!” Apparently she hadn’t shot him accurately enough. He had been standing farther away than the target had been when she’d practiced with Lancel. It occurred to her that Robert may yet survive this. He was stubborn enough to hang on to life, to keep her trapped. 

The realization had Cersei dropping her mask, but nonetheless looking stricken as Barristan Selmy, her father, and the others running toward them. Had she ever seen her father run before? He’d always seemed implacable as a glacier, but in the way that he got his will through patience and planning, rather than rushing. “I thought he was an animal.” Cersei said, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in her stomach that Robert might live. 

“Go and fetch Pycelle.” Tywin ordered, turning his attention to Lancel. The boy remained frozen. Was he putting it together? Did he realize the part that he had played? No, he wasn’t even looking at Cersei. She realized that he was simply stunned that Tywin was speaking to him, let alone asking something of him. Gods he was a fool.

“Go! Fetch Pycelle! My husband has been shot!” Cersei cried. To her credit, there seemed to be enough distress in her voice to seem appropriately concerned. All of the men that were gathered around her knew well enough that her marriage to Robert was from from a happy one; too much concern would have drawn suspicion. “Where is Tommen? And Joffrey?” Cersei asked, noticing that her sons, thankfully, were not among those assembled. 

“Clegane is with them. The shorter one.” Tywin clarified as the large man, the largest of all of them cleared his throat. “You should put pressure on the wound, Cersei. We wouldn’t want him bleeding out.” Cersei held her father’s gaze for a moment before her hands moved to heed his commands. He’d told her to put his hands over the wound in Robert’s chest in the same tone that he might have used to tell her to get an umbrella as there was rain in the forecast. How did he manage to do that? How could he remain so cold? Perhaps he wished Robert dead too. But why? He’d hardly have wished Robert harmed on Cersei’s account. She searched his eyes for answers, but they offered her nothing but emptiness. 

Robert grunted in pain as Cersei’s hands laid on his chest. His lips parted as if to shout at her, but no words came out and the pain was clearly starting to overcome him. “Shush, Lancel has gone to fetch Pycelle. Try not to move. You must be strong, my love.” _Writhe in pain all you like. You must die._

Renly knelt beside her. “Come now, Robert, what’s the point of all this weight you’ve put on if you can’t stop a bullet with it.” Renly was trying to cheer him, but Cersei could see the worry in his eyes. 

Nevertheless, she rounded on him. “Don’t make him laugh! He shouldn’t mo-” Robert’s arm began to lift, but it made it little more than a few inches off of the ground.

“Be quiet, woman!” his words were beginning to sound weak, and Cersei prayed that Lancel would take his time in fetching Pycelle. Or that the old maester would be slow to come to their aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special s/u to quailgate


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Widow’s black suits you.”

Robert Baratheon was dead. _Robert Baratheon was dead._ There was a feeling in the pit of Jaime’s stomach that he could not put into words. Not that expressing his emotions was something that Jaime was particularly good at. He tended to not concern himself with any emotion that was not the thrill of victory, the lust he felt for his sister, the amusement that he felt in the company of friends or his brother Tyrion, or his rage toward Robert Baratheon. Jaime had hated that man for more than half his life. Was it the absence of that hatred that Jaime felt now? Hardly. The thought of all of the things that Robert had forced his sister to endure still set Jaime’s blood to a boil. Was it anger then? Anger that Jaime hadn’t been the one to do it? Perhaps. Perhaps that was it. Though, if the stories were true, the oaf had died at Cersei’s hand. Sure, all of the reports claimed that it was the infection that had gotten him, that the maester had gotten there too slowly and that by the time they got Robert to a citadel for treatment, he was lost to the infection. But the rumors were always that Cersei had been the one to pull the trigger. Why she’d even been hunting with them, Jaime had no idea, but he could hardly call her up and ask her. She could be being watched. 

Besides, did Jaime really want to hear her confession when he was all these miles away? Of course not. If she’d killed Robert, Jaime wanted to hear her confession and then drink champagne from her stomach to celebrate. 

At least Robert’s death gave him cause to abandon the business venture against the Stark boy. Among the many things that the oaf was, he was Jaime’s brother-in-law. Tywin couldn’t really begrudge Jaime for abandoning business in the name of family. He had to be there. To comfort Cersei. Though Jaime doubted that his father truly suspected the type of comfort that Jaime intended to provide. Would the shock have killed him if he did find out? If it did, then Jaime would have had to take over the company he imagined. Well, Jaime would be named, and then Jaime would name Tyrion to run all the bits that Jaime didn’t want to run himself. Perhaps he could give Cersei a roll as well. He could tease her about becoming his secretary until she glared and fumed and then he could show her to a corner office that would be all hers where she could run something. Jaime wonder which would make Tywin Lannister roll in his grave more: seeing Tyrion gain a foothold, or see Cersei have place in the company. Cersei had been a good little lion and married who Father had wanted her to marry, had had her three children (two being boys would be considered a bonus in the eyes of Tywin Lannister; an heir and a spare), smiled and waved when she was set out like the fine china, and most importantly, was beautiful in the Lannister way, with the rays of the golden sun in her curls, eyes the color of the grass in spring, and a body that could incite lust in the heart of the most pius of men. Tyrion was Tywin’s curse, though Jaime hated that his brother was seen in that way. Still, at least he was a man. That would win him more points than all of the things that Cersei had done. Yet, it was useless to speculate on the matter. The funeral to which Jaime was headed was not to mourn Tywin Lannister. 

There were more people in attendance than Jaime had expected, but it comforted him to see that he was far from the only person that had come straight from the airport. Clearly many of the attendees intended to only be there long enough to be photographed mourning the oaf or to grab a quick word with Tywin. Jaime’s motivations for coming straight from the airport had less to do with efficiency and more to do with the fact that Tywin had already taken their jet and the flight that he’d booked for himself had been delayed due to rains in the Riverlands. It was such that Jaime had not gotten to the sept until after the service has started, well past time to make his way to Cersei. She looked radiant though. Even from afar. A black veil shielded her face, no doubt to conceal the fact that the only tears that she would have been able to muster would have been tears of joy. Beneath the veil, Jaime could make out the faint glimmer of what looked like rubies. There was not a doubt in Jaime’s mind that it was the necklace that Tywin had given her back when their father had wished for her to marry Rhaegar Targaryen. The necklace draped over the high neck of her dress, but, despite the collar, the dress was far from modest. It clung to her curves when she stood and held Myrcella and Tommen as Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, Ned Stark, and a few others carried the coffin off, out of the sept to go and be buried. Cersei followed not far behind, as did the other mourners. Jaime itched to see her, to touch her. It was cruel that she was so close and yet they were forced to play this game. How long was it to go on? Until Jaime had watched half the men assembled try to offer her their shoulders to cry on? Cersei didn’t need them. She needed him. As he needed her. 

When they reached the cemetery, Jaime got his chance. Tywin was the first out of their limousine, followed by Stannis and his family, and then Renly, who was exiting the vehicle just as Jaime approached it. “Take our niece and nephews. Cersei will be along in a moment.” Jaime told Renly, trying to hurry Tommen along out of the car. The boy had been distracted at the sight of Jaime, eager to see his long absent uncle, but Jaime couldn’t spare him the time just then. He’d make it up to the boy later though. For now, he had to get to Cersei. 

He blocked her from getting out of the car, all but pushing her back inside behind the shield of the blacked out windows of the limousine. The door was hardly shut behind them before he was kissing her. She tasted like peppermint, no doubt to mask the scent of wine as she was forced to endure dozens of pointless conversations with those that wished to express their grief for her loss. Jaime didn’t like the taste. He preferred when she tasted of the spiced wine that she favored on cool, crisp fall afternoons, the sort of days where she always somehow forgot to bring a heavy enough jacket and would wear his. She was trying to break away from him so Jaime put more of his weight on top of her. 

“Widow’s black suits you.” Jaime’s voice had gone raspy as he kissed and sucked at the side of her neck hungrily. 

“It washes me out. I look like a corpse.” she murmured, feebly trying to push him away.

“You look beautiful.” And she felt even better with her body pinned between his and the seat. 

“Jaime we can’t. It’s Robert’s funeral. We can’t Father-” 

Her words said “no,” but her hips had shifted and he could feel her legs opening to accommodate him. Besides, if she truly meant ‘no,’ they had a safe word for that. She wasn’t using it. Instead all he got were half hearted attempts to push him away. “Well, I was going to fuck you on his coffin, but I thought that the sounds of your ass squeaking on the wood might be a bit of a turn-” He cut off as she slapped him. “Ouch! That actually hurt.” She was wearing her wedding and engagement rings. The heavy, gaudy, monstrosities that Robert had given her. Jaime hated them. They were an eyesore on her perfect, delicate fingers; no doubt Robert had just gotten something expensive so as not to offend Tywin. They weren’t fit to adorn her hand, so Jaime grabbed her hand and pulled them off, discarding them with a wave of his hand.

“Jaime-” he silenced her with a kiss and did not stop until the sound shifted to a moan. He pushed up her dress then, not even pausing to admire her stockings nor the garter belt to which they were suspended. There was one thing that he wanted, and it was her. Just Cersei. He didn’t care for whatever pretty trappings she’d done herself up in. They didn’t matter to him. He could see her pretty things when he Facetimed her. She was what mattered. Her muscles taught beneath his hands as he pulled her legs up around his waist. Her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her tongue sliding against his once her lips parted to allow him entry. Those things mattered to him far more than any clothes with which she’d adorned herself. 

She uttered his name once more when he broke the kiss to look down at the button and zipper of his trousers which had defied him in yielding to his fumbling attempts to open them. The sweet utterance of his name, paired up with her heavy breath, only encouraged him further. Jaime wanted to draw more than his name out of her pretty lips, and he hardly bothered to hide his enthusiasm about it. 

He pressed against her then, a groan emanating from the back of his throat as he seeks friction. Jaime’s hands grasped at the apex of her thighs, deft and attuned to her body. He pushed himself into her, teasing at first, but only briefly before he her hips, spurring of her own desire, tried to demand that his pace hasten. As he settled into her, his hand sought the jutted angle of her hip to caress it with his thumb before pulling her back roughly so that he was as far into her as he could go. Was there anything sweeter than his? Judging by her expression and the sweet moans, Jaime imagined that Cersei would agree with him that there was not. 

Jaime slid one hand up her body, over the fabric which he longed to rip off and wrapped his hand over her pulse so that he could force her gaze to lock on his. “Don’t touch my hair.” Cersei panted, earning her a particularly hard thrust from Jaime. He loved her hair, loved the way that it shone when the sunlight touched it in equal measure to the way that he loved the way it splayed over the pillow when she slept as if her hair was itself the sun instead. 

“Tease.” Jaime panted in return. His head dropped to her shoulder where he nipped and bit at her tender skin, muffling his groans whenever they threaten to become too telling. “Too many clothes.” He grunted, longing to feel the weight of her breasts in his palms, but they were hidden from him beneath the layers of her dress. “When we get home, I”m going to rip this off of you.” he whispered, which earned a derisive snort from his sister. His fingers slipped around the back of Cersei’s neck, heavily pressing into the skin he feels there and kisses her properly, with passion and conviction and heavy, demanding lips to quiet any jape that she might wish to make in response. 

He dragged himself along every nerve, playing her like an instrument (not that Jaime had ever shown much talent for drawing sweet sounds from anything other than his sweet sister), then pounds in again, never disrupting his rhythm. For him though, for him each thrust brought him closer to the edge until he felt as though he was hurtling toward it. “Together, the way we were meant.” he pleaded as his fingers found her clit, trying to push her over the edge with him. “With me, Cersei.” Jaime held until he felt her clench around his cock, and then he could hold off no longer. His entire body tensed, prompting him to give into his desperation soon enough. Then, after a final, quick succession of rough thrusts and with her name wrapped around a reverent moan, he succumbed to his release. 

Loath as Jaime was to admit it, they did not have long to bask. After a moment, once his breathing his breathing had slowed a bit, Jaime reached over and grabbed a boy of tissues to help his sister clean up. “So nice of the Silent Sisters to put these in the car for you. Do you think they ever imagined that instead of tears you’d be mopping up your brother’s-” He broke off at the look that she shot him. “Oh, come now, Cersei,” There was another glare to silence him, so rather than continue, Jaime tucked himself back into his trousers and righted his appearance as best as he could given that he was sitting in the back of the limousine. “Go out the other door, it’ll give you a chance to right yourself before facing your many admirers.” he told her with an edge of jealousy creeping into his tone. 

“You’ve lipstick on you cheek.” Cersei wet a tissue on her tongue and began wiping at his face, trying to get the pinkish-brown mark off. 

“Yes, next time, wear the red. It suits you far better.”

“Jaime, it’s Robert’s funeral, for Gods’ sake.” Cersei explained, looking around the floor of the vehicle. 

When Jaime realized that she was looking for the wedding rings that he’d cast aside, he scowled in annoyance. “That didn’t stop you from wearing Rhaegar’s rubies.” he snapped, making no move to help her find the rings. They were better off cast to the floor. Nevertheless, she found them and slipped them on to her finger once more. 

“_You_ know they’re Rhaegar’s rubies, but few else do. I shot my husband, I need to look bereaved.” 

“So you did shoot him then.”

“I did.” He could tell that the admission brought her pleasure; it made him want to take her again. Perhaps he should have fucked her over Robert’s casket.

“Tell me about it.” He lazily reached his hand over to toy with the hem of her dress, even as she pulled it down. 

“Later. We -”

“Oh damn the funeral! I’m not sorry that he’s dead, and neither are you. Neither is anyone!” Jaime tried to pull him toward her, but she pulled away, pulled away and slid out of the car. 

“Later.” With that, she was gone, walking toward the assembled mourners, intercepted halfway by Tywin. What would she have done if he’d gone after her? Pulled her back and kissed her in front of everyone in the way that he’d wanted to do for his entire life? The way that she claimed to want as well. He could have forced her hand. Of course, he doubted that would end well. The moment would likely have been interrupted with her slapping him, rather than yielding to him as she did behind closed doors. 

Jaime stewed in his bitterness as he exited the limousine and walked the few hundred yards to the grave site. Ned Stark was glaring daggers at him from across the coffin. To spite him, and to perhaps exercise some of his frustration, Jaime leaned in to whisper in his father’s ear and tilted his head in Ned’s direction. Of course, his words had nothing to do with Ned Stark. “If Cersei’s going to insist on wearing those monstrosities that Robert gave her as she plays the grieving widow, she’s going to have to get them resized. They fell off in the limo. Took forever to find them.” Jaime whispered. His actions earned a steely stare from Ned Stark, and a glare from his sister. To be sure, he could not actually see Cersei’s eyes thanks to the veil that she’d lowered to hide her face, but he did not need to see her expression to know that she was displeased. They had hardly gotten their stories straight before either of them had talked to Father. No doubt, it would bring her back to him all the sooner, if only to chastise him for making some remark without speaking to her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert may have been the great man that Ned Stark and the rest mourned, but he’d also been a man that had hit his wife and even his children. No one seemed to care about that now that he was dead. No one but Cersei.

Cersei stared over the rim of her wine glass at the heaps of boxes that now occupied her bedroom. She could hear the muffled voices of the funeral attendees down stairs. They had invaded her home like some plague of locusts. No. That wasn’t right. Cersei would have preferred locusts. Locusts could have been squashed beneath her hell with a satisfying crack of the exoskeleton. These weren’t locusts in her home, but Cersei lacked a better blight to which she could compare them. Tyrion would have known some better term. He’d have offered it up with that smug look on his face that always seized him in moments when he tried to prove himself to be better than her. He was down there, down with the locusts. And Cersei was upstairs, seething as she stared at packed boxes.

The servants had not taken them away. Cersei remembered how one of the women had actually laid her hand on Cersei’s arm, had touched her! Then the woman had said that Cersei might wish to have some of Robert’s things around her later. As if Cersei would ever want to see anything that reminded her of Robert. Still, it has served to remind Cersei that she needed to do a better job of playing the grieving widow. People expected her to cry, to mourn, to want to surround herself with people that wished to tell stories about the great man that Robert had once been. If she had to sit through another telling of some off color thing that Robert said, presented by Ned Stark as if it was the funniest thing anyone had ever uttered, Cersei thought she might throw herself from one of her windows. 

She suspected that it was all a test. Ned Stark’s personal form of tormenting her. He was always watching her, those cold grey eyes of his accusing her of any number of crimes. Cersei knew that he didn’t believe that Robert’s death had been an accident. He and Jon Arryn had convinced Stannis to have Robert’s body autopsied. It was ridiculous. Cersei hadn’t denied that she’d shot him. She’d made her tearful statements about being scared in the woods when she’d been left alone, and how Robert had startled her. Not to mention that there were plenty of people that had heard Robert give her the gun. Did Ned expect to find the bullet with a confession written on a scroll wrapped up inside of it? All he’d gotten for his trouble was the fact that the bullet hadn’t killed Robert, not precisely at least. The infection had. Stannis and Jon were all planning to target Pycelle, which Cersei could not have cared less about. Let him wither and die on the vine, it made no difference to her. Still, it was more people that told her that she was failing in her role as Robert’s widow. They thought that she should be leading the charge against Pycelle. 

She’d thought that she would have freedom once Robert was finally buried, but he loomed as large over her life now as he ever had. Perhaps more so. Renly told lively stories about the times that Robert had taken him drinking or hunting or to a brothel. At least the latter type of story seemed to annoy Loras Tyrell as much as it annoyed Cersei, if for different reasons. Cersei suspected that Renly’s sudden devotion to the praise of Robert’s memory was more to do with Robert’s empty seat than it was brotherly devotion. Stannis too was seeking it, though his attempts were more subtle. Stannis seemed to be of the mind that if he proved that Robert had been murdered, the people would somehow want him to help govern. At least Renly seemed to grasp that the people preferred their detectives to be confined to their televisions rather than their governments. 

But there were many who unlike Renly, seemed to have no other motivation to sharing their stories about Robert other than to mourn the man that they had repainted him to be. In their stories, Robert was always young, always handsome, always so full of life. It was always the sort of story that people had told to Cersei before she’d married Robert. Then she’d learned the truth of him that all the stories told now ignored. No one told the stories of all the times that he’d hit her. No one told the story of how he’d given Tommen a gift on his bastard’s Name Day because Robert had when Tommen’s actually was. 

Robert may have been the great man that Ned Stark and the rest mourned, but he’d also been a man that had hit his wife and even his children. No one seemed to care about that now that he was dead. No one but Cersei.

She’d have stewed on that for a while longer, but a knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. At first, she’d thought that it was Jaime, but that was more wishful thinking than a thought. Jaime would not have knocked, no more than he’d let her know that he planned on taking her in the car as the mourners had all assembled not far away. It was possibly the greatest risk they’d ever taken, aside from the times that they’d fucked with a drunken Robert snoring heavily beside them as they went. It had been in the bed that Cersei stared at now. The memory had a warmth stirring between Cersei’s legs, but before she could do much about it, there was a second knock, and a voice calling her name. 

Lancel.

Cersei rubbed at her temple, trying to summon the patience that dealing with Lancel would take. It would not take so much as going down to the mourners would have, but Cersei would have far preferred to continue to drink her wine in the quiet of her bedroom. Cersei opened the door to Lancel and ushered him in. He’d gotten so much paler in the week or so since Robert had died. “You couldn’t take much more of their worship of him either?” she asked sweetly as she ran her fingers gently over his arm. “Come and sit, I’ll pour you a drink.” Because Cersei needed another if she was going to convince Lancel that he’d somehow played her white knight. 

“Why don’t you tell them everything that he did to you?” Lancel asked, but he seemed to have lost some of the righteous fury that had fueled him only weeks before when he’d been teaching her how to shoot. Perhaps seeing Jaime had reminded him of just how inadequate he was. Jaime had looked sophisticated and dashing in his charcoal grey suit whereas Lancel’s suit, though well tailored (as was befitting of a Lannister), seemed as though it was wearing him rather than the other way around. 

“Lancel, it wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it might make people think that I shot him on purpose.” Cersei told him. She handed him the wine and stepped in toward him. ONe day she wouldn’t have to do this. One day she wouldn’t have to spread her legs for Robert, for Lancel, to any other man that needed to feel like he mattered. One day she would just have Jaime. Unfortunately, it was not yet that time. Unfortunately that best way to quiet Lancel was with her teets as if he was some squalling baby. “Besides Lancel, do you think they’d care. My own father said nothing when Robert spoke to me like that out in the woods, and I’ve no idea what awful things he said once I was gone.” But Cersei was certain that Tywin had not come to give some rousing defense of his daughter’s honor. She doubted Lancel had said anything either, though she didn’t want to let on that she knew. “Lancel, you’re the only one that ever cared.” It was another lie, but again, Lancel didn’t need to know that she stroked his ear with lies as easily as she stroked his arm with her finger tips. 

Cersei set her wine to the side and slid her body against Lancel’s. He drew in a sharp breath in response, and Cersei could see lust starting to crackle and spit in his eyes, but it was like a candle wick that had been soaked in water, there was something preventing him from truly catching aflame. It was as if he was trying to steel himself against her advances. “Did you? Shoot him on purpose?” Lancel asked, swallowing thickly as his fingers twitched at his sides.   
He clearly wanted to touch her, but he was holding himself back from doing so. It might have been amusing if it wasn’t so inconvenient. Cersei may not have liked the method to assure Lancel’s loyalty, but it was better than the risk of having him confess what he’d done to someone. 

She took his hands in hers and placed them on her hips. “Lancel, how can you ask me that? We both know that I wasn’t a very good shot with the rifle, not without you there to hold me.” Cersei’s voice was a coo, but it was becoming difficult for her to sustain it when she’d have loved nothing more than to call Lancel a fool. He could go to Ned Stark with his suspicions and breathe new life into their theory that she’d killed Robert intentionally. “Lancel, you don’t know how much I wish that I could tell them all of the awful things that Robert has done, but you’re the only one that I can trust, the only one that I don’t have to pretend around.” Her simpering was having the desired effect. Lancel had tightened his hands around her waist, and even slid one to rub the small of her back in what she supposed was meant to be a gesture of comfort. 

Lancel’s resistance was slowly fading until there was another voice joining them in the conversation. 

“You really ought to lock your door. Anyone might have seen you like this.” It was Jaime. Cersei didn’t need to turn to look at him to feel the heat of his anger. The look in his eyes had been enough to have Lancel jumping back as if he’d been scorched. “You should bring my sister a box of tissues if you wish to comfort our widow.” 

Lancel seemed to miss the meaning of his words. “Lancel, would you go and fetch me some tissues. And another bottle of wine.” Cersei directed. She hadn’t taken her eyes from Jaime’s though. She had only seen that look in his eyes once before: the first time that Robert had hit her. Not even when Robert had knocked one of Joffrey’s teeth out had Jaime looked so murderous. Cersei recalled how she’d spent the whole night begging Jaime, pleading with him not to kill Robert then, all the alternatives for vengeance that she’d offered, but it was not until they’d exhausted themselves coupling that he’d cooled. Cersei doubted that she could cool his rage in similar fashion now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry for not updating as quickly as usual. As the chapters get longer, unfortunately so too does the time between them. Hopefully everything is worth the wait!
> 
> xoxo Jules


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fire that would not be quenched with the wetness between her legs.

This was meant to be the moment. Cersei’d fantasized about Jaime cutting Lancel down in a jealous rage every time that she’d let Lancel touch her. It was about the only thing that allowed her to tolerate his touch, let alone pretend to enjoy it. This was the moment. The sweet moment where her fantasy would spring to life. But though Jaime looked murderous, he let Lancel make his escape from the room and fixed the anger glowing like wildfire in his eyes upon Cersei instead. 

This was a fire that would not be quenched with the wetness between her legs. 

There was something different in the air between them. Ordinarily there was electricity between them, sure, but this, whatever it was, seemed more likely to spark and crack and shock her than it was to cause damage to anyone else. Cersei would not stand for that. She would not allow her fantasy to be ruined the way so many of her early childhood dreams had been. She would not cow herself to Jaime’s anger, at least not when he stood there silently battling his own fury. 

She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she raised her chin slightly, her gesture exuding defiance as Jaime’s stance radiated rage. “Are you actually going to throw your temper tantrum or merely stand there waiting for me to offer some apology for whatever it is that you think I’ve done wrong?” Her chin raised just a touch higher as she tried to behave as if she was as hard as the rocks upon which their ancestral home had been built. “You’re standing there, grinding your teeth. For a moment I mistook you for Stannis Baratheon.” While her delivery of the words was cool, there was no mistaking that her intention was to wound. She was cornered, though she would never have willingly admitted as much to any one, even Jaime. A cornered lion was perhaps even more dangerous. 

“Stannis Baratheon? Are you fucking him too?” Jaime’s words were like a slap to her face with the harshness of his tone. And one slap deserved another, even if his was only metaphorical. Cersei’s hand cracked across his cheek and left an angry red mark across the side of his face. “Ouch.” Jaime said quietly, though they both knew that the blow had shocked more than pained him. “No, you wouldn’t fuck Stannis, would you?” Cersei went for another slap, but this time Jaime caught her wrist and used the momentum to turn her back to his chest and trap her arms at her sides. “No, you wouldn’t fuck Stannis. Stannis can’t do anything for you.” Jaime whispered harshly, his breath hot against her ear. Cersei squirmed in his grasp and tried to free herself, but her efforts were to no avail. “Did you fuck Pycelle too? Is that why he was so late getting to Robert? What did that feel like, Cersei? Did you writhe and squirm like this for him? Did the great beard of his spare you the sight of his wrinkled old cock?” 

“Let me go!” Cersei hated that she couldn’t wrench herself free, hated the fact that Jaime was able to hold her slender frame far enough away from his that she couldn’t lash out to hurt him to force him back, but he was still close enough to keep a firm hold of her. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. She’d wanted Robert dead. Lancel dead. And she and Jaime would toast to the corpses with a large glass of the wine that she’d purchased specifically to toast her freedom. 

“I said: did you fuck him too, Cersei?” Jaime spun her around to face him. Both of her wrists fit easily in one of his hands, but Cersei’s heels brought their eyes to level with one another. 

“Not all of us were given swords, Jaime.”

“Gods, not this again, Cersei.” he scoffed. For a moment, Cersei thought that he might release her, but instead he only pulled her in, closer to his frame. His annoyance only acted as kindling to the flames of Cersei’s own temper. Her rage at his privilege and the lack of her own was the one thing that he had always failed to understand. It was the rotten fruit that threatened to spread to the vine and the root of all strife between them. Whatever grievances they had with one another, it could always be traced back to the fact that Jaime had the power of manhood and Cersei was confined to her femininity. Long, long ago, she had decided that if her existence would be reduced down to one part of her, she would forge that part to a weapon as deadly as Jaime’s sword. 

Of course, Jaime had never liked that much, even when he thought that all she did was offer empty promises to men. He had never understood her rage. “If you’d wanted Robert dead, I’d have killed him.” One of Jaime’s hands drew a shiver from her as it ascended her spine until it locked around the back of her neck. “Any way that you’d wanted. How many times did I set out with a mind to kill him and you _begged_ me not to?” 

There had been more times than Cersei could count. Jaime had promised her Robert’s head on a spike from the moment that he’d slid that hideous ring on her finger for their engagement. The morning of her wedding Jaime had sworn that he would see to it that Robert’s knees were broken before he could make his way down the aisle. The first time that Robert had bruised her, Jaime had sworn to cut off his hands. And on it went with a thousand other promises of violence to be committed in her name. But, would any of them have left her with the satisfaction, fleeting though it eventually was, that she had felt in those moments when Cersei had fired the gun and thought it her bullet that would finally end Robert? Hardly.

“Yes, it would have been brilliant. You could have been investigated for another infamous murder.” Cersei snapped at him. She had told herself that had been why she had involved Lancel; she told herself that enough times that even she had come to believe that it was true. But as she said it now, and more importantly heard him laugh at the reasoning, it was suddenly harder to believe.

Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at his shoulders to try to push him back, though Jaime only needed to take a half step back to find his balance. There was still anger in his eyes, but it no longer hissed and spit each time that he looked at her. “Yes, and what an investigation it would be. The fat oaf went off into the woods by himself without a vest and--” Jaime stopped cold and his sneer died as his handsome features recomposed themselves into an expression of incredulity. “There is an investigation, isn’t there? Do they honestly think that you killed him? Well obviousy you killed him, but do they really think-?”   
It wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, Stannis Baratheon, they all knew the precarious balance between public and private that ran through every aspect of Cersei’s and Robert’s marriage. “I know that they don’t want to believe that it was an accident, but they can’t outright accuse me of anything.” Not when they had seen Robert send her off all alone. Not when he’d gone out after her himself. Not when the scene had unfolded so perfectly. It was the antithesis of the scene before her now. Whereas everything had fallen into place so easily when she’d fired the gun, telling the story to Jaime now was far from the fantasy that Cersei had built. “Lancel was teaching me to fire a gun. If they find that out, it will hardly appear so accidental.”

“Come now. Like you’d have become that good of a shot in a what? A few weeks?” Jaime scoffed. There was still an undercurrent of annoyance, but his driving emotion was quickly turning from rage to amusement. That was fine for Jaime. He could laugh at the world until he ripped it apart with his teeth. Women did not have that luxury. Cersei did not have that luxury.

“Well, Robert was a rather big target, wasn’t he?” Cersei replied coolly. She did not much feel like laughing yet, not when her wounds still smarted from his earlier accusations. “Perhaps if you’d taught me instead of Lancel, I would have had aim enough that Robert would have simply died in the woods.” She hadn’t wanted Jaime there, hadn’t wanted him involved, but if he was going to hurl accusations at her for the arms that she’d been forced to take up, then she would wound him in other ways. 

Her words had clearly thrown gasoline on Jaime’s temper and what had only moments before been in the process of cooling to a warm ember sparked back to a flame. “A THOUSAND TIME I PROMISED YOU HIS HEAD! A THOUSAND TIMES-”

“And a thousand years we’d both have spent in prison.” Cersei cut him off. She walked back to her wine bottle and poured the last of it into her glass through the aerator inserted at the top of the bottle. 

“And you propose to keep Lancel quiet by letting him bury his tongue in your cunt?” Jaime’s anger was back in full force once more. 

“Are you jealous?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT! (also low key sorry for the cut off, but I promise there's a reason!) xoxo jules


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The two of you. Behaving like drunken fraternity brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! work has been kicking my ass.

“Are you jealous?” 

Yes. Yes Jaime was. For years he’d suffered through allowing Robert to touch her. He’d allowed others to look at her and believe that they had a chance. Apparently they had a better chance to be with her than he’d ever imagined. Robert. Lancel. Who else? Who else had she decided to fuck in order to get something that she wanted? As if Jaime wouldn’t have given her every thing in the world if she’d only asked. But apparently instead of asking him, she was spreading her legs to ask everyone else. 

“Do I need to get tested?” Jaime asked. For a moment, Cersei looked confused by his question. _Now who’s the stupidest Lannister?_ Yet, before Jaime could explain, could wound her as she’d wounded him, she seemed to realize what he was saying if the redness on her face was any indication. He saw her hand twitch. “Come now Cersei, we both know that you’re not going to throw that. You’re hardly one to waste wine.” He was baiting her perhaps, but she deserved it if she was fucking Lancel and who know who else. 

She looked murderous, which made her a fitting match for Jaime in that moment. _As if she was ever any less than his perfect match._ “How can you even ask me that?” Cersei spat before she drowned whatever else she wanted to say with a large gulp of wine. She didn’t throw the glass though. Jaime had been baiting her. A part of him wished that she had thrown it at him. There was a rage that burned within his sister, one which she had been taught to hold in. Granted, Cersei did not always do the best job at holding back the bite of her temper, but around others, she did try when she had a mind to do so. It was only around her twin that she needn’t worry about such restraint. Only her twin could feel the full heat of her passion. Or so Jaime had thought. He craved the heat of her passion now. It could add to his and they could burn alive or burn the world down, it made no difference to him so long as they were together. 

All he wanted was for them to be together and there she was, erecting that wall that she used to keep everyone else at bay, trusting Lancel to help her kill Robert instead of him, fucking Lancel instead of him. “I asked you: do I need to get tested?” Jaime repeated, his eyes squarely on hers, seeking out the flash of anger. 

He saw it. A spark that fanned into a flame to match his. Yet, her words, while full of anger, were the last thing that he wanted. “Get.Out.” Cersei hissed. At first, Jaime ignored her. He’d ignored her protests a thousand times before, but as he advanced, she spoke again. “Joanna.” The word stopped Jaime dead in his tracks. They rarely spoke of their mother. It made her name the perfect safe word. That and the fact that mothers were supposed to make you feel safe. Jaime couldn’t remember which of them had suggested the use of their mother’s name for this purpose, but over time, invoking her had become a means to instantly cue to the other to stop. “Get out.” 

Though he wasn’t happy about it, Jaime obeyed. He’d much rather have continued their confrontation until he had her forced an apology from her lips, perhaps coaxed her to beg for his forgiveness. He might have forgiven her if she’d begged. Cersei was hardly one to beg, which would have made it all the sweeter. She could have gotten to her knees and pressed her pleas into his thighs before taking his cock into her mouth. 

The idea of her doing the same for Lancel ruined Jaime’s fantasy such that he was caught off guard when Ned Stark fell into step beside him. “So are we all meant to believe that your sister’s shut herself up here to be alone with her grief?” he asked, and Jaime wondered how much, if anything, he’d heard of their argument. 

Still, neither Jaime’s surprise nor the concern that Ned might have heard them did anything to diminish Jaime’s wit. “Well, no one exactly anticipated that she’d hurl herself into the grave to join him. Actually, I rather thought that would be your place, dear Ned. It’s a good thing that my brother-in-law was such a large man. There was ample room for you, Renly, and Stannis to all hide in his shadow. What will you do now that you cannot eat the crumbs caught in his beard to sustain yourself?” Since he hadn’t gotten to lash out at Cersei, it felt good to lash out at someone, though really, Ned Stark was almost too easy of a target. 

Ned bristled at Jaime’s barb, but Jaime raised a hand. “Don’t put yourself out, Stark. Delivering that eulogy was already more talking than you must have done in ages. You must be hoarse after finally getting your chance to do more than remind us that seasons change.” Jaime continued. Ned might have been an easy target, but he was handy. “I suppose I have to give you credit, don’t I? Honestly, to listen to you, I might have actually thought Robert was a good person. It’s a miracle that your honor didn’t choke back all the lies that you told up there-”

“They weren’t lies.” Ned said evenly, seeming to find his voice at last. Not that Jaime cared much what he had to say. “He wasn’t what she turned him into.” 

Rage sparked anew on Jaime’s features as he turned to Ned Stark. As angry as Jaime was with his sister, and he certainly was, he would not allow another to speak ill of her (except perhaps if they were Tyrion). “Ah yes, because she made him drink and whore about? And have his first child at when he was how old? Oh wait. He was engaged to your sister then, wasn’t he? Think our Robert would have treated her any better?” Jaime had the satisfaction of watching Ned’s ears burn red. Whether the coloration was from embarrassment or rage, Jaime did not care. “Perhaps your sister ruined him so that he’d never have functioned no matter what Cersei’d done.” Jaime could tell that his words were drawing out Ned’s rage, but they weren’t drawing out smug accusations as to what Ned might have heard had he caught any of Jaime’s conversation with Cersei. He took that to mean that he’d heard none of it. That was a pity. If he’d heard, perhaps then Jaime wouldn’t have had to continue hiding. Still, perhaps with one final push, Jaime could be certain. “Whatever happened to her anyway. No funeral. No obituary. How were we meant to pay our respects?

The blow actually surprised Jaime, so much so that it actually landed. “You have no respect, Lannister.” Ned spat.   
He moved to walk away, but Jaime was faster. He grabbed Ned’s neck and let out a sigh of pleasure. Finally, there was something that he could hit and actually take his frustrations out on. Lancel wasn’t worth it, and Cersei, well, thought Jaime often dreamed of quieting her with his cock in her mouth, her’d have never struck her. But Ned Stark he could hit. “No respect for you, maybe, but what care have I for the opinion of a snowman that will melt come the spring?” Jaime hissed as he backed Ned into the wall. Gods, he wished that it could have been Cersei that he’d pinned, but she was too busy getting drunk and fucking Lancel. Fucking Lancel. Stupid Lancel. 

“Let him go!” 

“Ah, Lady Stark.” Jaime grinned at the auburn haired woman as she came toward them in a huff. Blue daggers shot from her eyes and she straightened her husband’s suits. 

“The two of you. Behaving like drunken fraternity brothers.”

“Can you think of anything better to honor Robert than a drunken brawl?” She slapped him for that. It stung almost as much as a blow from Cersei might have. “We should get a few whores and really make it a party in his honor.” _Perhaps my sister knows a few that could attend._ Catelyn slapped him again and nearly knocked the thought out of his head. “Ouch. I suppose I should be grateful that the Stark’s are so minimalistic when it comes to their jewelry. If old Ned had gotten you a bigger ring, you might have done some damage, Lady Stark.” 

“Perhaps a scar might teach you some humility, Lannister.” Catelyn spat, her face redder than her hair, but she was leading her husband away, and taking with her the outlet the Jaime had chosen for his rage. Where could he go now? Downstairs? And watch people sit there talking about what a loss Robert Baratheon was? Hardly. Besides, Father would be down there and he’d want to know how Jaime had lost the contract to the Stark boy. Somehow Jaime didn’t think that Tywin would find “well, the Blackfish prefers red-headed nephews to blondes” to be a sufficient excuse. Tyrion had long left the funeral or Jaime would have sought out his younger brother for company to drink with until Cersei came to him with those sweet apologies which Jaime longed to hear. Of course, he could well die waiting on Cersei to apologize. 

As Jaime stood, rubbing his jaw from where Catelyn had struck him, he decided that he’s seek out his brother after all. It would give Cersei the opportunity to miss him, and to realize that he wouldn’t simply wait around for her. Well, it might make her think that. Trick her. The truth was, Jaime would have waited, and he hated himself for it. He’d have waited forever for her if she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deliberately, she laced her arm through her father’s rather than follow after him the way that Tommen had been following Cersei around the house of late. She may have been his daughter, but Cersei wished to walk with him as his equal, the heir that he should have recognized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! We had a major blow up at work and I was in the office until 8pm nearly every night and then came home and worked. I unfortunately needed some time to recharge. I hope that you all find that this chapter was worth the wait!!!

“Cersei.” To anyone else, Tywin Lannister’s voice might have seemed calm, but Cersei knew better. She’d spent her life, whether she would admit it or not, searching her father’s tone for anything and everything to try to find a means of reading what would please him enough to prove to him that she was the heir to whom he should entrust her legacy. There was no pride in his tone now, but rather well concealed annoyance. “The detective asked you a question.” Tywin continued. 

Cersei’s thoughts had been elsewhere. She’d been trying to think of things which would make her sad so that she might shed a few tears for the detectives, but all she could think about were things that made her angry. It was ridiculous that she was here at all. She’d told them what had happened. Robert had given her the gun. Robert had surprised her. It should have been simple. If the dozen witnesses hadn’t been enough to drown the stench of suspicion, then Lannister money and influence should have been. And yet, there Cersei was. All that her Lannister money had gotten her was that her interview was taking place in the County Prosecutor’s Office rather than an interrogation room. The chairs were more comfortable than they would have been in the interrogation room, certainly, but the decor was equally, if differently awful. There was a large crystal crown sitting behind the county prosecutor, sitting just on the shelf as if he was wearing it. Even absent that, the man would have been insufferable. He interrupted more frequently than Cersei’s own attorney. Clearly, he was nervous about whether or not he would be reappointed to the post. It served him right. He’d been obnoxious enough that Cersei had already mentally pledged to donate as much as she could to the appointment of his adversary. His adversary may have been a frugal man, one who claimed to shun the trappings of wealth, and vowed to rid the streets of crime, including that of purchased verdicts,but Cersei vowed she’d do everything in her power to see that man replace the one irritating her presently. 

“I’m sorry. This is all just so overwhelming.” Cerseri raised a handkerchief to her eyes. She’d dipped the corner of it in a mint oil so that the menthol would prompt her tears to start following. They wanted the crying, remorseful, grief-stricken widow. It turned her stomach, but after playing the dutiful daughter, the pliant wife, she knew how to play the parts in which she’d been cast. At least this was a part that she’d helped to write for herself. It was a tedious one though. Everyone forever wanted her tears. It was even more exhausting than those years when Robert had forever wanted her cunt. It would be over soon though. She clung to that idea like a mantra in order to keep her temper in check. Soon they would stop the farce of an investigation once they realized that there was nothing to find.

“So very tragic. Robert’s loss is so deeply felt in this office.” the prosecutor chimed in, his eyes darting to Tywin to see if the response had pleased the Lannister patriarch. When Tywin’s expression remained as inscrutable as ever, the man continued: “Of course, no one holds you responsible dear.” He called her “dear.” If Cersei had not already vowed to see the man demoted to dog catcher, she’d have done so for having the audacity to refer to her as “dear.” Added to that, the anger that the term of endearment had sparked had burned away the few tears that Cersei’d been starting to work up. 

“You’ll forgive me, Mrs. _Baratheon,_," Cersei fought the urge to snarl at the application of Robert's surname to her. "-but, well, there were certain rumors about you and your husband.” the detective, a slender man with sharp features replied evenly. The words had the prosecutor clucking indignantly, his eyes darting to Tywin for a sign of irritation, but before anyone could say anything, Cersei’s attorney began to chuckle. 

“Honestly Petyr, I’d have thought you’d learned better than to trust rumors when your rumors told you to study the wrong subjects for the 1L exams. It is truly a shame that Hoster Tully stopped funding your legal education with a keen mind such as yours.” Varys tittered. Though she appreciated the mockery of the detective, she had learned long ago that Varys was not the friend to her that she’d once thought him to be. “If we’re going to deal in rumors and innuendo, might we speak on the reasons that the head of the financial crimes unit is here investigating a death.” Varys asked with a raised brow. 

As amusing as it might have been to watch the two men spar, Cersei had grown bored with the discussion long ago, and maintaining the grieving widow facade was getting more and more tedious. “I fail to see how any rumor about my marriage is more compelling than the eyewitness accounts of more than a dozen men.” Cersei snapped. Her behavior had finally prompted a change to Tywin’s facial expression. It was small, just a slight arch to his brow, so slight that for a moment Cersei had thought that she’d imagined it. Still, she could tell that the gears had started to turn in his head. Naturally, she assumed that it had been something that she’d said. 

“My daughter is upset” Though Tywin’s tone of voice was even, Cersei would tell when her father was displeased with someone. “This interview is over.” Tywin never raised his voice, yet when he spoke, it was undoubtedly a command. For a moment, it seemed that Petyr was considering defying him. The man’s grey-green eyes held on the green and gold eyes of her father. Not many dared to look Tywin in the eyes whilst considering defying him. Luckily for the man, he smartly realized it was best not to defy Tywin Lannister. “Cersei, come.” 

While she objected to being summoned like a dog, Cersei rose when Tywin did. Deliberately, she laced her arm through her father’s rather than follow after him the way that Tommen had been following Cersei around the house of late. She may have been his daughter, but Cersei wished to walk with him as his equal, the heir that he should have recognized. 

Cersei and Tywin walked out together and Varys was left to trial behind them to Tywin’s car (he detested being driven). Varys turned to hail a cab, but Tywin raised a hand and gestured to the car. Cersei took advantage of Varys’ momentary confusion and deliberately moved to open the passenger’s side door to ensure that Tywin would not try to ask her to take the back seat. Whether it was because of her quick movement or because he’d never intended to have Varys sit beside him, Tywin opened his own door, leaving Varys to slide into the back. 

When the doors to the Range Rover had shut, securing them inside, Tywin’s eyes found Varys’ in the rearview mirror. “You might have mentioned that your _old friend from law school_ was the head of the financial crimes unit.” Tywin said coolly as he pulled out of his parking space. “I pay you to tell me these things, not to waste my time sitting through a meeting so that you can continue to score points in some school boy rivalry.” Cersei studied her father’s face as he spoke, committing every gesture to her memory. She liked to think his actions mirrored her own. She imagined that when she’d scolded the laundress for putting the wrong sheets on the bed the previous day. 

“My lord, I-I assumed that you knew.” Varys replied, no longer quite as confident as he’d been in the prosecutor’s office.

“Are you deaf? My father just said that’s what he pays you for. We haven’t done anything wrong, why would we care which police officer controls which department?” Cersei’s defense of her father did not earn her the silent approval that she’d expected. Still, she was curious, perhaps there was reason to worry if Tywin hadn’t known who the man was. Her father usually knew of everyone of importance; they were forever finding ways to throw themselves at him as the prosecutor had been. 

“I choose what I need to know. Not you. Was that a fishing expedition for himself? Or was someone else pulling the strings?” Tywin asked. “Tell me the whole of it.”

Varys appeared stunned for a moment before putting his normal air back in place. “I think Catelyn Stark or Lysa Arryn. He’s more likely to do a favor to curry favor with the former, but she’s less likely to ask anything of him. If so much as a quarter of the rumors about Littlefinger and Lysa are true, well, I imagine that Lysa would no doubt have murdered Robert herself if it would give her a means to breathe the same air as Littlefinger.” 

“Isn’t she too busy lobbying Instagram to stop taking down the videos of her breastfeeding her six year old?” Tywin ignored Cersei’s comment and Varys merely winced. Cersei at least had thought that it’d been funny. No one wanted to see Lysa’s “How to teach your child to avoid using his teeth when breastfeeding” tutorials. 

“Find out which of them put him up to it.” Tywin said coolly, pulling the car to the curb nearly a dozen blocks away from Varys’ office.

“Ah, I suppose this is my stop.” When Tywin made no response, Varys merely cleared his throat. “I suppose that you shall call when you have need of me.”

“I’ve already told you what I need of it.” Tywin replied, his eyes fixed on the road before him.

Once Varys shut the door, Cersei was left alone with her father, which suited her just fine. “Ned Stark seems to be leading the charge to-” Tywin had turned to her, only briefly, before turning his eyes back to the road. Still, it was enough to give Cersei pause. 

“Do you remember when you were nine. You changed all of the minuses on your report card to pluses?” 

Cersei wasn’t sure what this story had to do with anything. “And then you went to the parent teacher conference and found out what I’d done. What does that matter?” Cersei shook her head.

“You weren’t as clever as you thought you were then, and you’re not as clever as you think that you are now. I need you to stop thinking of yourself and start thinking of this family.” Cersei’s heart stopped momentarily and she tilted her head as she scrutinized her father. Tywin’s gaze remained firmly fixed on the road. “Your Uncle Kevan, he may not be the cleverest of men, but he knows that. Just as he knows that when he finds out bullets and guns have been disappearing from his safe that he should tell no one apart from me.” 

Cersei started to put the pieces together in her head. He knew. Perhaps not all of it, but enough of the pieces. “What do Kevan’s guns have to do with me?”

“Oh, so I tell you that you’re not as clever as you fancy yourself and now you decide to play dumb. Neither suit you.” Tywin’s eyes never veered from the road, nor did his tone rise or fall. He remained even, steady and resolute as ever. 

Cersei scoffed and rolled her eyes, and still her father did not turn his gaze upon her. She disliked this. She didn’t know how much he knew. It wasn’t that she feared that her father would hand her over to the authorities for her confession. No, it was the fact that it hadn’t been the bullet that had gotten Robert, but rather the infection. She’d failed. “What are you asking me?” she stalled.

Tywin’s fingers drummed once on the steering wheel. “I want to know why you were stupid enough to kill your husband and stupider still to make Lancel your accomplice!” The irritation, just a taste of it, had started to seep into his voice and Cersei took that as a victory. She’d gotten him to react. She’d cracked the facade. 

“He hit me. The face this time.” That clarification was important. If Tywin did not know that Robert had hit her before, then it was due to willful ignorance on his part. " I should have dragged the family through the mess of a divorce? Opened up our finances to the courts?” Perhaps there was more reason than Cersei had first considered as to why her father might be concerned about a financial investigator. And here, for a few moments, Cersei had thought it had been out of courtesy to her. “I should have just let him beat me? Lannister’s are not punching bags! What would you have said if next time he’d come to you asking for money to fix my shattered nose? I wonder.” Tywin’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Should I have asked Jaime to do it for me then? Let Jaime see th-”

“Enough.” There was a twitch to the side of his mouth. “Trusting Lancel was stupid.” In retrospect, perhaps it had been, but there had been little alternative. 

“And telling me that changes what?” Cersei laughed. “The next time a man routinely beats me and my father does nothing but line the man’s pockets with gold, I shall remember not to make my cousin an accomplice.” she snapped as her eyes dared her father to turn and look at her. Despite the fact that he’d now pulled into her driveway and parked, his eyes did not turn to hers. Tywin could call her plan stupid all he wished, but there was nothing to be done to change it now. And besides, Cersei was going to get away with it. 

She unbuckled her seat belt and exited the car. “This isn’t one of those times where you can make me write an apology to the teacher, father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I will try my very best to get another update in before Christmas! xoxo Jules


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I old enough to drink? The way you’d have me decorate my room, I’m not so sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE! Please accept this humble offering as my gift to you all!

_She always comes, but I must ask.But what would I even ask her now._ Jaime mused as he drove home.

It had been a week since Jaime had last seen Cersei. It was hardly the longest that they’d gone without speaking. Sometimes this or that took Jaime to places where calling her was impossible. It wasn’t the length of the silence that bothered him, but rather the weight of it. Jaime’d caught himself nearly texting her dozens of times over the past few days. He’d see something that would remind him of her, or would make her laugh, and he’d nearly told her as much until he caught himself. This time, he refused to be the one to break their silence. He refused to be the one asking her to come to him. She’d had no problem asking Lancel to come to her. Jaime had decided that if Cersei wanted to see him, she would have to be the one to make the first move. 

Still, despite his decision, he was not actually prepared for when Cersei did make the first move, or perhaps it was simply that the move itself was so shocking.

When Jaime entered his apartment, it was to find every piece of furniture gone and the walls repainted a sterile white that he hadn’t seen since he’d first rented the place out. Tywin loathed that Jaime’d rented the place rather than own it or use one of the apartments that the family owned, but Jaime enjoyed being able to pick up and move if and when he chose to do so. Except now it seemed that someone else had made that choice for him. Someone that wore expensive perfume that clung to the air as if she’d sprayed it into the open air of the room earlier in the day.

As far as means to break their silence, this was dramatic. Jaime planned on telling Cersei exactly that, but when he went to dial her number, his thumb hovered over her name in his contact list. Removing all of his furniture was dramatic, to be sure, but did it count as breaking the silence between them? Jaime wasn’t so sure. He tried to imagine what Cersei would have done in his place. Would she have called? Probably not. She would have either spent the night sleeping on the floor to spite him or she’d have gone out and bought all new furniture. Jaime could do that. Money talked. Or he could have checked himself into a hotel. Gone to stay with Tyrion. 

Still, if she wanted his attention, why _take_ all the furniture. She could have simply destroyed it. That likely would have goaded him into calling her sooner because he’d have been furious at seeing all of his things ruined. Jaime decided that taking all of his things counted as breaking the silence first since her intention was undoubtedly to communicate something. 

Her phone rang once. Twice. On the third ring, Jaime nearly hung up, but when he pulled the phone from his ear, he heard something. There was a phone vibrating someone in the apartment. When he’d entered, he hadn’t thought to check the other rooms. 

He entered his bedroom and found it equally devoid of furniture, but there was one rather pleasant edition: Cersei. “Did you spare another wine glass the packing for me?” He asked as he moved closer to where she stood with her back to him. Her wine glass was sitting on the windowsill, as was the bottle which, now that he’d approached her, he realized was empty. “Apparently there’s no need since you haven’t saved me any wine.” 

“We’ve wine at home.” Cersei said, finally turning to him. He could tell from the shine to her eyes that she’d had the entire bottle to herself, and it seemed in a relatively short period of time. 

“We? Last I checked, I lived here. Unless you’ve heard something from my landlord that I haven’t.” Jaime teased. He stepped forward and took the wine glass from the ledge and took a large gulp. He’d have taken another, but Cersei had wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Come on, you aren’t going to share?” He teased, though really, he’d taken it more because he didn’t think that she should have any more. 

“One of us has to be able to drive home.” Cersei answered. She took the wine away from him, but did not drink it herself, which pleased Jaime. When they’d been younger, he didn’t mind it as much when she drank, but those were the days when she would get drunk with him and they would laugh and dance barefoot in the living room. They would have fun. It wasn’t like that any more, and not just because it was harder to get time alone with her with the children growing older. The longer that she’d been married to Robert, the more she drank without letting herself surrender to girlish laughter and any sort of silliness that they’d enjoyed when they were younger. Robert had killed a part of Cersei that Jaime had loved. It wasn’t right that Jaime hadn’t gotten to kill Robert himself. It wasn’t right that she’d gotten Lancel to help her instead of him. 

She wasn’t with Lancel now though. And she’d made the first move, though she’d no doubt take his calling her as her victory, nevermind the fact that she’d been standing in his apartment. If that was what she needed to think, he wouldn’t stop her. Cersei needed to win whereas Jaime saw winning as having her here in his arms. He placed a hand on her waist and took her hand in his free one. “All this talk of “we” and “home” and “us.” You haven’t talked like that in a while.” Jaime said. He began to sway to the music of a tune that only he could hear, and when Cersei let her body sway along with his, his heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t dancing like they used to do, but it was a start. 

“There’s going to be lots of talk about “us” soon enough. But you came back later than I expected. You have to drive us home so that I can make sure no one makes Tommen or Joffrey cry at dinner.” Cersei replied. Jaime could sense that she was going to stop, that she would pull away, so he pulled her closer before she could try. His hand slid down her waist to cup her ass cheek and squeeze gently. “You should have been here on time if you wanted that.” Cersei said with a hand on his chest. 

When she didn’t push him away, Jaime only smiled. “Do you know what seeing this place reminds me of?” Jaime didn’t wait for her answer. He spun her and quickly pulled her back against his chest. “It reminds me of when I moved in. Do you remember what we did there?” He pointed at the center of one of the bedroom walls. “Or what about there?” Jaime nipped gently at her ear as he turned her to another spot. He was growing hard against her back, and he didn’t bother to hide that fact from her. Lancel couldn’t satisfy her. No one could except for him. He’d remind her of that until she couldn’t walk straight and then carry her to the car. 

Jaime tugged at the hem of burgundy dress that she’d worn. It was somber enough to appear that she was still in mourning, but it wasn’t the black that he knew she loathed. Jaime hadn’t disliked the black, but he detested the subdued color on her. The white and gold of the panties that were revealed when he tugged up her dress were far more his preference. “Aren’t these pretty?” Jaime whispered. With a swift yank, the seams snapped and Jaime pocketed her panties. “These are mine. This is mine.” he whispered as he slid his fingers over her cunt. She was already wet, yet she stiffened in his grasp; no doubt annoyed by his declaration of ownership. “No more fucking Lancel. No more fucking anyone that isn’t me. No more of it, Cersei.” Jaime tried not to let his temper get the better of him. There’d be no more fucking anyone else. And no more drinking to dull the ache that was Robert Baratheon. She didn’t need to anymore, and Jaime intended to show her that. 

“What I remember getting rug burn on my ass and knees.” Her phone rang and she smiled at Jaime as he groaned. “Down boy.” she muttered with her eyes on his cock as she answered his phone. Jaime could hear Myrcella on the other end of the phone and promptly stopped trying to distract her. Perhaps if it had been Tywin on the phone, Jaime might have taken pleasure in trying to eat her out whilst she was on the phone, but he knew better when it came to the children. 

Cersei would want to go home. Feed the children dinner and everything that went along with it. He could send her away in a cab if she chose the children over him, but then it would be on him to apologize down the line. This, coming to his apartment, taking all of his things, waiting for him, was the closest she’d come to an apology in some time, and there was a chance, Jaime imagined, that he might be able to get a real apology from her. 

He started pulling her toward the door. At first, she resisted, persumably because she thought that he was still trying to fuck her, but once she realized that he was taking her to the door, she doubled her pace and crossed the room with a half dozen promises that “they’d” be home soon.  
“There’s that talk of “we” and “home” again. Are _we_ going to be playing house all of the sudden?” Jaime laughed as he hit the button for the elevator. It was a ridiculous thought. Cersei hadn’t even let him hold the children when they’d each been born. Now she, what? Wanted him to move in with her? Jaime would have dismissed the idea as ridiculous had he not remembered that she’d quite literally taken all of his stuff. “Gods, that is what you want, isn’t it?” Jaime said, his expression one of disbelief as they entered the elevator. “You want us to start playing house now that Robert’s dead.” It was something that Jaime had never imagined would happen, and Jaime wasn’t entirely certain how he felt. All his life, he’d wanted to be with her, but it had never seemed possible. It still wasn’t in many ways. It wasn’t as though they’d be married. It wasn’t as though anyone could know that she was his. 

Cersei turned toward him. “Who’s playing?” she asked, an eyebrow arched. There was something that Jaime knew that she wasn’t saying, but his heart was racing and there was a strange feeling in his stomach. He wanted to be with her. She’d been the only thing that he’d ever wanted. Better judgment told him not to hope, it told him to question that look in her eye, and yet he still couldn’t help the hopeful feeling. She couldn’t fuck Lancel when she was with him every night. Sure, she’d lived with Robert and still had time for her trysts with Jaime, but that was different. Robert hadn’t cared. Jaime did. 

They passed the short drive in silence, with Jaime trying to convince him not to look for hope in her words, in the way that her hand covered his on the gear stick. She knew what she was doing. She was dangling the future that he’d always wanted in front of him, but she’d yet to reveal the catch. There had to be a catch. Something more than the fact that they would still need to sneak around to an extent. There was something more that she wanted, though he didn’t have time to ask. 

Once they arrived at her home, she instantly became focused on the squabbling children. Joffrey was red faced, arguing with Myrcella. _He needs a smack._ Jaime hated thinking that, but it was true. It was perhaps the only thing that Robert Baratheon had ever been right about. The boy was spoiled rotten and Cersei was the worst sort of enabler. She loved him, and her love made her pretend to be blind to the boy’s faults. One day soon though, Jaime imagined that Myrcella might be the one to give her brother the smack that he so desperately deserved. She was arguing with him then, though the only ruffling to her feathers appeared to be that she was trying to help Tommen pick bits of potato out of his hair. 

Jaime didn’t linger downstairs with them. Instead, he went off in search of his things. No doubt Cersei had had at least some of them brought here. His clothes at the very least. He found an array of boxes in one of the bedrooms. A part of him thought about putting them in his car until he could test that Cersei’s offer didn’t have strings. It was a risk though. Cersei was proud and would revoke her offer if she feared that it would be refused. With that in mind, Jaime decided to unpack at least enough to convince Cersei that he’d bought her ruse. 

However, he’d unpacked more than he’d first intended. It was fascinating to him the things that Cersei had deemed important enough to bring into her home. First he’d noticed which of his clothes had gone missing. Then, Jaime noticed that she’d brought possibly every trophy that he’d ever won for anything as if he was going to decorate his bedroom as though he was still in high school. There were photos of her, photos of Jaime with the children, photos of Jaime and Tywin, Jaime and Joanna, but only one photo of Jaime and Tyrion when there’d previously been several in his apartment. 

Jaime was pursuing the boxes to find the others when Cersei finally entered. She’d changed. Her dress was traded for a crimson night gown and a silk robe to match. “I thought that I’d bring you a night cap.” 

“Am I old enough to drink? The way you’d have me decorate my room, I’m not so sure.” Jaime teased and held up an old tournament crown. “Do you still have the crown I gave you when I won this tournament? Wasn’t this the one that they had that awful monstrosity with daisies and baby’s breath?” His tone was light, but his eyes had narrowed as he watched her set one glass of wine on the night stand of one side of the bed before slipping between the sheets with her own glass on the other side. 

“Highgarden apparently used up all of their roses giving to the poor to throw at everyone’s feet to be trampled.” Cersei sipped on her wine before she adjusted the pillows behind her back so that she could sit up and watch him. “But to answer your question: yes. The crown, hideous baby’s breath and all, is currently pressed under a safe in my closet.” She appeared lost in thought for a moment and raised her wine to her lips, but did not drink. “Do you think that they do that on purpose? Give men crowns that last but give women crowns that wither and die? To remind us that we wither and die?” 

Jaime let out a sigh and walked toward the bed. She was fishing for a compliment, something that she didn’t normally do, but Jaime wasn’t ready to give her one just yet. He began looking at the bed as if searching for something. He lifted up the sheets and bedspread, and even Cersei’s legs. “What are you doing?” Her eyebrow arched to reinforce the question. .

“I’m looking for the strings.” He answered, still making a show of looking for another moment before he put his hands on either side of her legs. “You bring me here to play house. You come to my bed. This is too good to be true, Cersei. I’m not a fool.” But he was. Even though he knew that there was something that she wanted, something that she was not telling him, even though he was angry with her over Lancel, he still wanted her. “I’ve told you my terms, but you’ve told me nothing of yours.”

“Your terms?” Cersei’s brow remained arched, but she had the good sense to set her wine to the side. 

Now that the wine was safely stowed away, he pulled her legs so that she was flat on her back, Jaime took the opportunity to crawl on top of her. “I told you before. No more fucking Lancel. No more fucking anyone that isn’t me.” He whispered as he pressed more of his weight on to her. “No more, Cersei. I’m done sharing you.” Jaime told her, his voice having grown husky. He anchored his hands on her thighs before lowering himself down between her legs. “I told you that this is mine.” She scoffed at that and Jaime flipped her over in response. He didn’t want to look at her scoffing at him. “You don’t have to do that anymore. If you keep doing it, I’m going to start thinking that it’s because you like it. If you keep doing it, you might not like how I respond.”  
Cersei started to make as though she was going to try to turn around, so Jaime pulled her up to her back was to his chest. “Let me go.” she murmured.

“Never.” Jaime held her in place. One of his hands cupped her breasts and his thumb ran a circle around her nipple. “You and I are the only ones that matter in this world.” His fingers massaged at one of Cersei’s breasts over the silk of her nightgown as he whispered into her ear. Jaime nipped at the shell of her ear and then kissed her hair. She smelled perfect. She felt perfect. And Jaime knew that when he kissed her or settled between her legs, she would taste perfect too. 

Jaime pulled the hem of her night gown up with his free hand then ran his fingers along the crease where her leg met her pelvis. “You and I are the only ones that matter. You and I.” Jaime murmured as he rubbed a finger against the opening of her slit. He planted open mouthed kisses to the side of her face. From the way that she was adjusting herself against him and the wetness between starting to grow between her legs, he could tell that she was started to get worked up. It was exactly what Jaime wanted. He continued to lazily trace her opening as he buried his nose in her soft, golden curls. “My sweet sister. My sweet Cersei.” Jaime murmured as he ran a finger through her folds once before finding her clit. His fingers worked to stimulate her clit and the pace of Cersei’s breathing began to change. “My sweet Cersei. Will you moan prettily for me, sweetheart?”

He felt her stiffen and imagined that were he to turn her around, she might have looked annoyed. Luckily, Jaime had just the cure for that. Jaime brushed his finger against her folds before returning to her clit. Once he was satisfied with how wet she was, and once the was no longer so tease, he backed away, standing on the side of the bed. Cersei turned to face him. For a moment, she looked annoyed, but her expression changed when she saw Jaime sucking the taste of her from his fingers. She looked as ravenous as Jaime felt, though he was trying to project nonchalance. “How does it taste?” 

“Do you want to try it?” His smirk was wolfish as he raised his fingers to her mouth. 

She batted his hand away, as he expected. Jaime stepped forward to immediately close the space between them and capture her lips. He kissed her until she started to try to pull him to the bed on top of her, and then he pulled away, choosing to instead devote his attention to kissing his way down her body. He gives each of her breasts prolonged attention, licking and nipping and sucking onto the flesh until Cersei started to arch up beneath him. Once he reached her stomach, he stopped. Jaime lingered for a moment whilst his eyes sought her features in order to determine his course of action. She was getting impatient, needier than she’d ever admit. He smirked then, and dropped to his knees so that he could trail his lips lower to lick and suck on her clit. Jaime swirled his tongue in small circles around the bud while it was in his mouth. As he busied himself with pleasuring her, his hand snaked up her side to her breast where his thumb ran over the hardened nipple before he squeezed. He’d need to do away with her nightgown and robe soon, but for now, he rather liked the sensation of the cool silk against the skin. 

Cersei seemed to enjoy it too. She let out such soft pretty sighs that Jaime could nearly forget how sharp her tongue could be at times. And Jaime was greedy for more. His hands gripped her thighs and with long, slow strokes of his tongue, he works towards it, brings her closer to her release only to ease her from it again and again to her mounting frustration. It is to his frustration as well. Jaime’s cock ached to be buried inside of her, and his desire for that was threatening to overtake his desire to discover why she suddenly wished to play house with him. Moments before, he was certain that he wanted answers more than anything else, but the longer he spent between her legs, the less important those answers seemed to be.

Once he has rendered her needy enough, desperate enough, Jaime seeks to make up for the relentless teasing by returning his attention to her clit. He would draw her to the edge once more, but this time he would allow her over it to remind her that he was the only one that could bring her release from her frustrations. While his tongue was occupied with slowly running back and forth and his lips with wrapping around the soft flesh, he slipped a finger inside her. Jaime found the spot that he knew she liked to be touched and massage it until he could feel her body riding the waves of her orgasm. He lingered until Cersei’d calmed before making his way to her lips by pressing kisses up her stomach, the valley of her breasts, and her throat. Then, he let her taste herself on his lips, slow but forceful. “Don’t you taste good, Cers?” Jaime teased. To his delight, Cersei let out half of a laugh. 

Jaime let more of his weight press on top of Cersei as he returned to kissing her. It would soon be time to remind her that not only was he the only one that could make her finish, but he was the only one that could make her feel whole. Or it would have soon been time had Jaime not heard a child’s voice crying out for Cersei in the hallway. Cersei stiffened beneath him and Jaime let out a growl of frustration before he could stop himself. “Ignore it.” he urged. He tried to keep kissing her, but Cersei was shoving him off of her and on to his back. Jaime instantly regretted not having taken her earlier when he’d had the chance. It was twice now that his cock had been denied. And, when Cersei exited his room only to appear moments later with Tommen in tow, Jaime knew that he was in for a night of frustration and no answers to his questions. 

“You weren’t in your room.” Tommen was sniffling. He used the paw of the stuffed cat that he clutch to wipe at his tears before Cersei lifted him onto the bed. Jaime pushed away from Tommen and caught Cersei’s eye, gesturing to his cock straining to escape his trousers. 

His sister’s only response was to pull back the covers of the bed. And Jaime was left panicking as Tommen slid beneath them. What was Cersei doing? “I was in here, darling.” she said, soothing her son. She kissed the boy’s hair and all Jaime could think about was how he wished that she’d sent Tommen back to bed and was kissing him instead. “ Sometimes mommy has nightmares too.” Gods, now Cersei was sliding into bed with Tommen between them. Jaime stared at Cersei in disbelief. Surely she was joking. He’d been teasing her about playing house, but now there he was with a child in his bed, laying between him and Cersei. 

But just as Jaime was about to leave in frustration to allow Cersei to play mother, he heard Tommen’s voice, hesitant and small, as though he wasn’t sure that he should even be speaking. “You still have nightmares even now that daddy’s gone?” The boy sniffled. Jaime felt himself freeze. Robert had been cruel to Cersei, that Jaime knew. There were half a hundred reasons that Jaime would have killed him with pleasure. Yet, in Jaime’s wildest dreams, he’d never imagined that _Tommen_ would know of the horrors Robert had inflicted upon Cersei. The idea that Tommen might have seen something enraged Jaime. Tommen was seven. Seven. Had Robert really stooped so low as to abuse Cersei in front of a seven year old. 

Cersei too seemed troubled by what he’d said, but Jaime spoke first. “Sometimes the worst nightmares are the beasts that have already been felled. They haunt our dreams because it’s the only way that they can still punish us.” Jaime certainly had more than his fair share of bad dreams about enemies that had already fallen. 

His words prompted a strange expression on Cersei’s face as she laid on the other side of Tommen, facing Jaime. “You needn’t worry about nightmares, darling. Jaime’s here to protect us.” she kissed Tommen’s head and settled beside her son. They seemed to fall asleep soon thereafter, though Jaime did not. He wasn’t there to fight off nightmares, that he knew. Why he was there still eluded him though. He’d intended to get answers from Cersei after fucking her, but well, that plan was quite derailed. And he could hardly ask her now; it wouldn’t have been worth waking her or risking Tommen hearing them. It would be another night that Cersei got to keep her secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! The next few updates might be a little bit slow. Work stuff still hasn't slowed down and I'm headed into what would have already been a crazy time. Hopefully this mega chapter (ngl I'm glad that the Joff pov chapter is no longer the longest one) will keep you entertained. xoxo Jules


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There. Are we even now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! We just hired someone new at my firm, but unfortunately he can't even edit a word doc without calling me for help, so I'm not certain that I'm going to be less drained any time soon. Thank you all for your patience! I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

There was only one night in Cersei’s memory that she’d ever slept better: the first time that Joffrey had _finally_ slept through the night rather than waking her in the wee hours before morning because he was hungry or fussing. Then as now, Cersei finally felt well rested. Jaime’s body was pressed against her back. Apparently some time during the night he’d risen and decided to wrap his arms around her rather than leave Tommen between them. Cersei found herself amused by that, rather than annoyed. Jaime was wrapped around her back and she could feel his drool on her shoulder as she could feel Tommen’s on her hand. She stretched beside them and heard Jaime grunt behind her in response, but he did not otherwise stir. Tommen however, began to fidget. “Mommy? Can I have breakfast?” Tommen mumbled as he rolled over to face her. 

Cersei raised her head to find the clock on the bedside table on the other side of the bed Staff would be in by now meaning that there would be someone there to make Tommen something to eat. “Go on ahead, darling.” Cersei murmured as she pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. “I’ll be down in a moment.” She’d have gone with her son, but Jaime was awake behind her. She could feel Jaime’s cock hard against her back and his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her back to ensure that she could feel him pressing against her. He’d been denied the previous night, after he’d been so sweet and attentive to Cersei. She supposed that this time she’d let him finish first. 

Once Tommen was safely from the room, Cersei turned over to face Jaime. “You drooled on me in your sleep.” Cersei’d have kept speaking, but her words were muffled by Jaime sticking his fingers in her mouth. At first she balked at the intrusion, but then she considered teasing him by suckling on his fingers. Unfortunately, in the split-second that it took for her to make that choice, Jaime had already removed his fingers and wiped her spit across his forehead. 

“There. Are we even now?” Jaime retorted. He reached forward and grabbed her ass to pull her closer. There was something aside from lust in his eyes though. He was thinking about something, something that he was debating whether or not to give voice to or not. It was a curious thing. Cersei could count on one hand the times that Jaime had tried to mind his words around her when they were alone, when he tried to conceal his thoughts from her.   
The nights after she’d accepted Robert’s proposal. The nights that followed Joffrey’s birth. Nights like that. But he was hiding something from her now. 

His attempts to be foolish and playful were simply attempts to misdirect her, she knew. She’d easily root out his secrets. There was nothing that Jaime could keep from her. Not for very long at least. Besides, she had a feeling that his mood, like it had in the past, had more to do with the fact that he’d been denied the fulness of her attention. 

Her fingers found their way to his hair and she began to stroke through the golden locks that would have been the same shade as her own if Cersei hadn’t added highlights to her own. “We’ll have to be quick, my brother, my lover.” Cersei cooed as she slipped beneath the heavy duvet and pulled his cock free from his sweatpants. Jaime’s hand cupped the side of her face, directing her to where his cock was throbbing. He was saying something, but the duvet served to muffle the softly spoken words. His hands and cock were saying enough anyway. 

Jaime’s hand was guiding her mouth to his cock, but Cersei turned her face and nipped at his inner thigh instead. He jumped and let out something that Cersei assumed was some sort of swear. She nuzzled the side of the “v” where his one of his legs met his torso and placed kisses on the side of his cock. They didn’t have much time to spare, so Cersei wanted to ensure that he was plenty worked up before she finally took him into her mouth. One finger stroked gently up and down his shaft, swiping over the slit to begin working precum up and down the shaft with her hand wrapped around his cock instead of simply a finger. Jaime’s hips were starting to buck, thrusting himself into her hand faster and faster until Cersei held his hips in place. She wouldn’t have minded him fucking into hetook his cock r hand at that pace, but she did intend on using her mouth and he knew better than to fuck her mouth that hard. 

She held his hips down as she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, lowering her mouth to take in more of his shaft. Jaime fought to buck against her and she pinched at his skin on the inside of his thigh roughly to remind him to stop. She heard something like a growl on the other side of the duvet as she bobbed her head up and down the shaft, her cheeks hollowing when she sucked harder. Just as she was establishing a rhythm that she liked, Cersei felt Jaime bucking again. She reached down to pinch his thigh again, but he caught her wrist and pulled her hand up. One of them threw aside the duvet and Cersei eased off his cock, ready to snap at him for continuing to pull at her, but he quickly pulled her up and rolled her on to her back. “You said we hadn’t much time.” he explained as he pushed his cock inside of her with a snap of his hips. “Pretty as your mouth is, it’s no match to the warmth of your cunt, sweet Cersei.” he murmured. Though she was annoyed that he had taken control from her, she preferred having him inside of her to giving him head. This way, Cersei could come too. 

Or at least she thought that she would. Jaime grabbed kept his hands on her hips, pumping hard. He finished with a few rough thrusts and his head buried in her breasts. Then rolled off of her. She propped herself up on her elbows and cleared her throat, but Jaime had rolled to the other side of the bed and was rising. “You ought to get up, Cersei. You don’t wish to keep Tommen waiting.” Jaime teased, flashing her a grin as he walked away into the bathroom that adjoined the guest room. Had he lingered, he might have seen the fury and the frustration on Cersei’s face. She considered following him as such a sight should not have been without an audience, but she didn’t wish to give him the satisfaction of knowing how frustrated she was. 

Cersei re-tied the knot of her robe and stalked from Jaime’s bedroom down to the kitchen. Tommen was sitting on the countertop, a bit too close to the stove for Cersei’s comfort. He was intently watching as one of the chefs poured batter into a hot pan to make Tommen cat shaped pancakes. Tommen was leaning over the pan, reaching for the cabinet across the way where the chocolate chips were kept. Luckily, the chef intercepted him and lifted him off the counter and placed him on his feet. Cersei was torn between admonishing them for touching her son or promising to give them a hefty bonus at the year’s end for keeping him out of harm’s way.   
At the table in the breakfast nook, Joffrey was on his phone. Myrcella, though technically not much older than Tommen, seemed lightyears away from her younger brother’s childish antics. Myrcella watered plants at the window sill, some lavender that she’d begged Cersei to help her plant. She noticed Cersei first. “See, I told you that I could keep them alive.” she said with a smile. She stepped toward Cersei and hugged her legs sweetly. 

“That you did, sweetling.” Cersei replied before kissing the top of her daughter’s head. 

“Do you think Uncle Jaime wants chocolate chips in his pancakes?” Tommen asked, now trying to climb up on the counters to get to the cabinet where the chocolate chips were kept. 

_He doesn’t deserve chocolate chips in his pancakes._ Cersei almost said, but instead she got the chips down from the cabinet and counted out 10 chocolate chips. “I think we can ask him when he comes down. But _you_ can either have your chips in your pancakes or you can eat them now if you like.” Tommen appeared to have been faced with a great dilemma by the way his face screwed up with thought. 

“Tommen, you should have half now and then put half in your pancakes!” Myrcella suggested, smiling at her brother as she hugged at Cersei’s leg. “That’s what I want to do with mine.” And hearing that, Cersei counted out 10 more chips. “Joffrey, do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes?” Myrcella asked. Rather than respond, Joffrey merely rolled his eyes and grumbled something about chocolate chips being for babies. “Tommen and I can split Joffrey’s then, can’t we? If I count them out right then we can split them?” Myrcella asked, unperturbed by her elder brother’s sullenness. 

Tommen joined in to support his sister, his plump cheeks brightening as he grinned at the idea of getting an extra treat. It was a face that Cersei could hardly refuse. “Only if Myrcella counts them out correctly.” Cersei decided. She hefted her daughter on to the counter and handed her the bag of chocolate chips. Myrcella’s brows drew together in concentration as she carefully counted out two piles of five chips. She counted them a third time, her finger hovering each one in turn, before she grinned up at Cersei, waiting for her mother’s approval. “Well done!” Cersei praised, and kissed her daughter’s hair.

“All she did was count to ten. A parrot can do that.” Joffrey’s words had Cersei fighting the urge to wince. She didn’t feel like dealing with sibling quarrels when she was already frustrated with Jaime and there was much to do that day. 

She eased Myrcella off of the counter and placed her on the floor before crossing to her son. “”Cella, darling, why don’t you and Tommen go wait for your pancakes in front of the television? Someone will bring them out to you. Go on.” The last thing that Cersei wanted to deal with right now was Joffrey, but she knew how unmanageable he could become if his mood was left unchecked. Now that Myrcella and Tommen had departed, Cersei was free to slide next to Joffrey in the breakfast nook. “Joffrey-” Cersei began, but she had no idea what to say to him. Joffrey had to be handled delicately. He was willful, liable to blow back away from her simply because he sensed that she was trying to steer him in a direction, even if she was trying merely to steer him away from sharp rocks and into a safe harbor instead. “Older brothers are supposed to protect their younger siblings, not pick on them. Especially sisters.”

“Why? You and Uncle Tyrion say horrible things to one another.” Joffrey snapped. He pushed his pancakes around his plate through the syrup and continued sulked, though he’d yet to truly lash out, which Cersei took as a sign that he was in a somewhat receptive mood. Still, she didn’t appreciate that he referenced her relationship with Tyrion. She did loathe the Imp, that was true. She could hardly claim otherwise and it was not as though she could tell her son to seek a relationship with his siblings that was more like the one that she shared with Jaime. 

Cersei rested her hand gently on the table, just to the side of Joffrey’s. “I was not the best sister to him, does that please you to hear? That I expect you to be better than I?” While her more traditional approaches to manipulation were barred to her when it came to her son, he was still a man, and men enjoyed having their egos flattered. “Joffrey-” Cersei started but her son twitched beside her as if physically shaking off her words. Thankfully, the cook saw to make their exit to bring Tommen and Myrcella their pancakes rather than stay and witness Cersei attempt to reach her son. She’d let Robert influence him too much. Robert had been a poison that had turned her sweet boy into this intractable teen that spurned his mother’s guidance. 

“I don’t want to give another stupid speech. I gave the eulogy, why do I have to give another speech?” Joffrey sulked, revealing the root cause of his discontent that morning. “It’s like all everyone wants me to do is sit around and be sad all the time! And cry! Like I’m stupid like Myrcella or Tommen!”

Cersei wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed gently. “Because you spoke so eloquently when you spoke at the funeral. And it’s not your tears they want.” she dared to kiss his cheek. It was a mistake. 

Joffrey flinched and pulled away from her. “I’m not a baby!” he protested, though he certainly sounded childish in his refusals. “Aye, it’s not my tears they want. They want yours. They want you to cry that you weren’t a better wife. That Father had to sleep around because you weren’t good en-” Cersei’s hand raised and cracked across his cheek before either of them had realized that she’d raised it from the table. Joffrey clutched his cheek dramatically and though Cersei knew that she hadn’t struck him particularly hard, the fact that she’d raised her hand to him at all horrified her. She looked down at her hand as if she’d never seen it before. 

Unbeknownst to Cersei, Jaime had been lingering at the doorway. He scooped her up from the breakfast table and quickly filled her space. “You don’t speak to your mother like that.” he said with a fierceness to his voice that Cersei wasn’t certain that she’d ever heard.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps his uncle had fancied that with Joffrey’s father dead, Uncle Jaime would step in and become the “man of the house” since he didn’t have a family of his own. Joffrey would show him. Joffrey was going to be the man of the house, and he would bet that he could goad his mother into saying as much in front of Uncle Jaime. That would show them all that he wasn’t some little boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on such a short chapter! Work has been crazy. We hired another associate and then fired him about a week later. I've been pretty strained lately, but hopefully things will turn around soon. Without further ado, I hope that you enjoy!

There was only one time that Joffrey recalled ever seeing someone so angry, and yes, it had been his mother. It reminded him of the time that he’d been more scared than he’d ever been before. Joffrey didn’t remember what he’d been doing, but it had angered his father enough that he’d received the brunt of his father’s fist instead of mother. Joffrey knew from his memory of receiving fat hundred dollar bills beneath his pillow that he’d lost teeth when his father had struck him, but all he remembered about the actual incident was how murderous his mother had been. Robert’s anger was far less fear inspiring thanks to how common of an occurrence it was, but his mother’s rage, unmasked was far more terrifying. And he saw his mother’s rage echoed on her twin’s face now. 

“Jaime, stop it!” His mother ordered, giving Joffrey the precious seconds that he needed to pretend as though he hadn’t been frightened by his uncle. She was tugging Jaime up, but for all her efforts, she might as well have been trying to pull his father. “Jaime!” His mother gave one final tug before dropping his uncle’s arm. “Fine! Be a brute like Robert!” As if his mother had spoken some magic words, Uncle Jaime relented. 

Uncle Jaime rose and turned back to Cersei and stroked her cheek despite her attempts to swat him away. Joffrey couldn’t make out what his uncle had mumbled, but it seemed to be asking if his mother was alright. “Why are you asking her? _I’m_ the one that she hit!” Joffrey shouted. Why did no one ever take his side? Mother sometimes did, but she also was the one that stopped him from doing so many of the things that he wanted to do, or made him do things that he didn’t want to do, like eat vegetables or give speeches like he had to later that morning. After his father’s eulogy the kids in his class had come up and teased him for getting tears in his eyes; Joffrey didn’t want to be teased again. Sure, it had been nice having the girls fawning over him for a few minutes, but he’d quickly realized that it was because they’d thought him weak. He wasn’t weak. He couldn’t let anyone think of him as weak. Not Tommen. Not Myrcella. Not Mother. Not Uncle Jaime. Not Grandfather. And his Father’s ghost. 

Joffrey pushed himself up and glared at his mother and uncle. “Or maybe I’ll just go and tell everyone when I give my speech. Talk about how you hit me, how Father hits you.” he spat, looking directly at his mother. She’d yet to put any shoes on, so he was almost at her height. Joffrey like that. He hated that anyone could look down on him. 

“_Hit_ her, you mean.” Uncle Jaime corrected and Joffrey immediately reddened. “He’s dead, he doesn’t hit her anymore.” There was still that murderous look in his uncle’s eyes, but it flashed to hurt the moment that Cersei shoved him away from her. 

His mother stepped forward, and though her touch was as gentle as a summer breeze, Joffrey nonetheless winced dramatically, just to see the hurt that would cross her face when he did so. “Joffrey, sweetling-”

“Don’t call me that! I’m not a baby like Tommen!” Joffrey protested. He realized now that his dramatics might have made it seem as though he wished to be coddled. He didn’t. Not if it made him seem like a baby. 

“Of course you’re not. No one wanted Tommen to go and give a speech. They want you. We all know that you’re not a child, Joffrey.” His mother was still stroking his cheek, but it felt nice, and, since she was telling him that he wasn’t a baby like Tommen, Joffrey decided to allow her to continue. Besides, it had Uncle Jaime looking put out which brought Joffrey an odd sort of satisfaction. Perhaps his uncle had fancied that with Joffrey’s father dead, Uncle Jaime would step in and become the “man of the house” since he didn’t have a family of his own. Joffrey would show him. Joffrey was going to be the man of the house, and he would bet that he could goad his mother into saying as much in front of Uncle Jaime. That would show them all that he wasn’t some little boy. That would get their respect. Letting Mother strike him hadn’t been a way to earn respect, but letting her fuss, like a woman, over him until she felt better and until he absolved her would give him power. 

Joffrey looked up straight into his mother’s eyes in the hopes that she would continue in flattering him. No doubt, she was feeling guilty for striking him. As she should. “I want to wear the watch that grandfather gave to father on his last name day.” Joffrey declared, and then he watched his mother blanche. 

“Darling, your father broke that watch, but perhaps you can wear one of Jaime’s.” She didn’t say “Uncle Jaime.” That struck Joffrey as odd, though not enough to say something about it. 

“I don’t want to wear Uncle Jaime’s! I want to wear my father’s!” There was a curious look on Uncle Jaime’s face, and this time, it truly did catch Joffrey’s attention. However, yet again, he ignored it. “If you take such issue with my father, then perhaps you should have said something before he was dead! A brave man you are! Fighting old men and tilting at ghosts!” Joffrey shouted and his expression became more smug as he watched his uncle’s expression darken further. There was something going on, and Joffrey wasn’t certain what it was, but he knew that he didn’t like it. “I don’t want Uncle Jaime at the speech. Uncle Renly can advise me.” 

“No Joffrey. Renly is trying to take Robert’s seat. He says you’re too young. I had to fight very hard to get you this speech. Now go upstairs and put on your suit.” Cersei urged, stroking his arm. 

Joffrey turned his attention away from trying to puzzle out his uncle’s thoughts and brought his attention back to his mother instead. “What do you mean he’s trying to take my father’s seat? It’s _my_ seat! You said! Grandfather said! It’s mine!” Joffrey’s face was growing red as he worked himself up, but a voice, cool as a brisk, winter morning cut him off before he could continue his petulant whining. 

“And Renly will claim that he’s merely keeping it warm for you and when he happens to prove himself to be what they want, your seat will be forfeited. As you’re meant to be in the Chamber in thirty minutes, I imagine he’ll take advantage to start today.” Tywin Lannister stood in the kitchen in a dark three-piece suit which was so well-tailored that it clearly cost more than most people would make in a month. There was the briefest sliver of a crimson pocket square peeking out of his pocket and there was an expertly knotted tie to match. There was power in his stance, and Joffrey loathed how envious he was of that. “Go get dresses. You as well Cersei. Jaime, I trust you’ve a suit here?” Tywin drawled, and it made Joffrey feel slightly better that he wasn’t the only one to bear his grandfather’s scorn that morning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her killing of him was poorly done, but it had been cleaned up more easily than some of the messes that Robert had created whilst he still lived. Tywin had been annoyed by the attention, certainly, but he was more annoyed by the way that there had been years of strain between her and Robert that had threatened to spill out into the press at nearly every turn. She was beautiful. Tywin wasn’t certain as to why managing Robert, a man with a fondness for pretty women, was such a challenge for her. It should have been easy. A man like Robert. A body like Cersei’s. It should have been simple. Yet it apparently wasn’t.

“That was well done.” Tywin’s gold-flecked eyes turned to regard the wizened woman that was approaching him. He regarded her with the same expression that had been photographed so many times that the press had stopped bothering with trying to capture another expression on the eldest living Lannister. Some claimed that Tywin’s features were as immovable as the Rock that he called his home. There were plenty that had taken it as a challenge to try to get another expression from him the way that many fought to compel the guards outside of Buckingham Palace to laugh. They never succeeded. 

Tywin suspected that the so-called Queen of Thorns was there to draw a reaction from him like so many before her. She would fail. Just like all of the others. Because it truly had been well done. Tywin had had his misgivings certainly. When he’d arrived that morning to find Cersei largely undressed, and making no move to remedy the situation for either herself or her children. She’d cleaned herself up well enough in the end though. The black dress was not the one that Tywin had sent for her to wear, but even he had to admit, if only to himself, that it was a suitable replacement, perhaps better even. Thank the gods she’d managed to throw herself together so quickly. Tywin had been concerned when he’d first arrived to collect her, but Cersei had complied quickly with his demands. Cersei, despite all her bluster and tantrums, was still always the fastest to comply somehow. 

Even Tywin had to admit, the role of grieving widow suited her far better than playing Robert’s wife had. With any luck, when he married her to her next husband, she would carry that energy into her next marriage. She was still young enough, still beautiful enough. Perhaps her next husband would be less of an embarassment. Really, the only time that Cersei had ever disappointed him was when she’d been unable to control her husband. Her killing of him was poorly done, but it had been cleaned up more easily than some of the messes that Robert had created whilst he still lived. Tywin had been annoyed by the attention, certainly, but he was more annoyed by the way that there had been years of strain between her and Robert that had threatened to spill out into the press at nearly every turn. She was beautiful. Tywin wasn’t certain as to why managing Robert, a man with a fondness for pretty women, was such a challenge for her. It should have been easy. A man like Robert. A body like Cersei’s. It should have been simple. Yet it apparently wasn’t. 

At least she made for a good widow. A better widow than Tywin had made widower. Tywin supposed that it was made easier by the fact that she had never loved Robert made it easier for her. She only had to feign grief for short stretches of time whereas Tywin still felt the ache in his chest from where his heart had once been before he’d given it to Joanna, before she’d taken it to her grave with her. Tywin remembered how he’d refused to seem weak in those moments after her passing. Everyone wanted to see the Great Lion crumble and crack. He had refused. But Cersei, Cersei was a woman. She was expected to shed her tears and none would have found it stoic if she’d projected an appearance of strength. Tywin had not been able to cry for the woman that he’d loved. Cersei was asked to cry a river for a man that she despised. The world worked in mysterious ways, but Tywin did not have time to dwell on such things now when Olenna was before him, seeking some sort of sparring match for old times’ sake. 

“It was.” She wasn’t foolish enough to expect any less and the twinkle in her eyes at his response confirmed that. 

“Very well done. Your grandson did a lovely job. Cersei has done a lovely job with him.” Tywin’s eyes narrowed, if only slightly. Most people would not have noticed, but he knew that Olenna would. He trusted that she would understand that it was a command that she get to her point, and that she do so quickly. “I’m quite looking forward to having her around more, what with you all pushing Joffrey to fill Robert’s shoes. Perhaps he can fill them better than Robert could. Perhaps I’ll discuss that with your darling daughter. We’ve a club you know. All us mothers stuck here guiding our sons. I hope that you didn’t think that you men were alone in that.” she laughed. Tywin hated her fucking laugh. It sounded as though she was trying to mock him, and he was not a man to be mocked. 

At least his pride had the support of good reason. Olenna may have fancied that she could form some little club with Cersei, try to paint herself into a maternal role in Cersei’s life. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’d tried. Tywin recalled once, long ago, just after Olenna’s own husband had died that she’d approached him, trying to seduce him, though a lesser man would not have seen it for what it was. At least he could not fault her for having ambition. 

Still, she was in for a rude awakening if she thought that she could turn his daughter against him. Cersei might squawk and balk at times, but she was a Lannister. She would always be a Lannister. There were few things that he trusted his daughter with. She had poor judgment to be certain. But she was a Lannister first. Of that Tywin had no reason to question. True, Cersei may endure a few wounds on Olenna’s thorns, but she was a lioness. Even if injured, she would prevail in the end. Cersei had long ago learned to suffer wounds to her pride in the name of House Lannister, as she’d so recently reminded him. After the bruises of Robert Baratheon, Cersei would handle a few scrapes should Olenna manage to land them, Tywin imagined. She was a Lannister. She would handle herself as a Lannister. 

“I imagine my daughter would find herself quite busy, but do invite her if you see fit. Perhaps she can help you in crafting Willas’ next address.” Not that Cersei had single-handedly written Joffrey’s but she had weighed in, albeit minimally. Olenna didn’t need to know that. 

Besides, if Cersei needed her claws to fight Olenna, perhaps they would lessen their grip on Jaime. Tywin had never understood why his daughter had such a hold on his son. Especially when she hadn’t managed to create such a hold on her husband or even her other brother. It was something to do with being twins, he assumed <s>He prayed.</s>

With luck, Cersei would be busy sparing with Olenna and wouldn’t have time to interfere with Tywin’s plans for Jaime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to return with such a short chapter after such a long break! My job has finally hired someone else (again, but this person is actually amazing) so I hope to go back to more regular updates soon! As always, comments are adored <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I won’t. Cersei needs me.” Had any words that he’d ever uttered to his father given him greater joy than those? _Cersei needs me. Cersei needs me. Cersei needs me._ They were beautifully reminiscent of her cries from the previous evening when he’d taken her after the children had all gone to bed. _After the children had gone to bed,_ it was all so domestic. Jaime could have laughed at the thought of it, but Tywin had gone silent in that way that clearly meant for Jaime to continue speaking. “She needs me here to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all are staying safe and inside! Here's a little something to hopefully help with the cabin fever. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to [ Marie aka VictoriaGrimes ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaGrimes/pseuds/VictoriaGrimes) for beta reading this. I had it beta read guys! Like a real fanfic writer! In all seriousness, she was a tremendous help and one of the most supportive people I know. She's also tremendously talented so please go read her fics (linked in her name) as well!

More than anything else in that moment, Jaime wished that he could free himself from the awkwardness of the meeting with his father. Despite the fact that it had been years since Jaime had attended school, there was something about conversing with his father that always left Jaime feeling as though his teacher had trapped him in some sort of quiz that he hadn’t realized that he was taking until he’d already failed half of it. There were always questions. Tywin always knew the answers to these questions, always looked so expectantly at his son as if he could will his own words to spring from Jaime’s mouth. Occasionally, they did, and Jaime was rewarded with something that he almost took for pride in his father’s expression. Of course, the emotion tended to be short-lived. And there was certainly no pride in his father’s expression now.

“You will go to Dorne-”

“I won’t.”

“You _won’t_?” No, there was no pride in Tywin’s tone, but there certainly was anger, boiling just beneath the surface of his icy facade. 

“I won’t. Cersei needs me.” Had any words that he’d ever uttered to his father given him greater joy than those? _Cersei needs me. Cersei needs me. Cersei needs me._ They were beautifully reminiscent of her cries from the previous evening when he’d taken her after the children had all gone to bed. _After the children had gone to bed,_ it was all so domestic. Jaime could have laughed at the thought of it, but Tywin had gone silent in that way that clearly meant for Jaime to continue speaking. “She needs me here to help.”

“Because Robert had such a hand in the children’s lives?” Tywin drawled. Jaime hated to admit that he had a point. If anything, Cersei was in a better position to parent her children now that Robert was not there to undermine and overrule her. Robert’s spectre would haunt them for a bit. Jaime was there to chase away the ghosts. At least, that’s why he figured he was there. Cersei never had let him in on her plans, but he assumed, based on the way that she’d decreed that he would be living with them, that he was meant to muddle his way closer to the role of father to the children. Unfortunately, Jaime’s musings on the subject were interrupted by his father’s words. “If they need a father so badly, I’ll have her engaged within the year. Married in two. Long enough to mourn.” Tywin declared and Jaime did not need a mirror to know that his face had gone pale.

“She won’t.” But even as the words left his mouth, Jaime wasn’t so certain. He could already hear her making her arguments about how a marriage could benefit _them_. How it would mean that Jaime could father more children on her without fear. Jaime didn’t care about children. The Stranger could take them all if it meant that he could call Cersei his wife and kiss her in the light of day without fear of who might see. Cersei would always talk of what her marriage to Robert had given them, but she never spoke of the cost. It cost him her. All of her. Her in his bed each night. Her when he came home after a long day. Her when she was upset and needed his comfort, but she could not escape. All Jaime wanted was her, and though yes, she’d been concealing the fullness of her plans from him of late, he had her in ways that he’d previously only dreamed of having her. Cersei slipped into his bed each night or he slipped into hers. And when Tommen or Myrcella stumbled in with a nightmare, he easily could explain that he’d only been comforting their mother. Cersei could try to make him play house if she wanted. So long as Jaime got to hold her as they drifted off to sleep. 

Tywin threatened to upend all that though. “Your sister will do what is required of her as a Lannister. Which is more than I can say for you. Who will carry on the Lannister name when I’m gone?”

_Tell Tyrion to stop using condoms._ Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he offered: “Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. Or did you forget that Cersei chose to hyphenate?” he said facetiously. An amused smirk curved the corner to his mouth. He had learned long ago that humor was his best weapon of choice against his father’s cold calculation. Tywin wished to move his children around like chess pieces. Cersei was content to allow him to do so, so long as she got to be the queen. So Tywin gave her a crown. It didn’t matter to him. Tywin Lannister moved queen and pawn alike as it suited him. Jaime was sometimes content as well, so long as he got to be the knight; however, in moments like this one, moments where he did not wish to participate in his father’s stratagems, he took after his brother Tyrion: the jester was not a chess piece and therefore could not be moved in pursuit of Tywin’s quest to hold the king in check. And this was one of those times that Jaime had to play at being the jester, or at least appear to be the jester. “How would marrying Cersei off give you Lannister’s to carry on our name? Unless you plan on marrying her to me, of course. Two birds, one stone. And our children would blend ri-”

“Enough!” There was a slight purple color to his father’s face that Jaime had never seen him wear. Still, it had felt good to say the words, even if he meant for his father to take them as a joke. But perhaps Tywin hadn’t. Perhaps that was why his father wore an expression of fury that was usually reserved for Tyrion’s drunken antics. “Cersei will marry again. You will go to Dorne or wherever else I need you to go.” Those Tywin’s knuckles had gone white from the strength with which he squeezed his fists, there was no fear in his tone, only finality. To Tywin, this was not up for debate, not anymore. 

Jaime, however, was not ready to surrender. “And while I’m off in Dorne or wherever else you choose to send me, Joffrey will balk under the yolk of Cersei’s guidance and turn to Renly or Stannis instead of me. You only saw part of how he was the morning that he gave that speech. Cersei got him under control, but-” Cersei would not have been pleased to hear him implying that she could not control her son, but Tywin would not repeat such things to her, and on the off chance that he did, well, Jaime would simply deny it. Cersei had her secrets and he would have this one. Besides, it was true. Some of Joffrey’s behavior could be attributed to teenage angst, but truly, the boy had always been difficult. Jaime was hardly keen to play at being a father, but it would keep him close to Cersei, keep her in his bed each night. When the children were younger, she’d been afraid to so much as let him touch the children for fear that someone might guess the truth of their parentage, but as they’d gotten older, as Renly brought them gifts lavish enough to come from a Lannister and as Tywin attended their school events with the family, Cersei had become more relaxed about it. In fact, she’d rather taken a liking to it. She always got so horny after he helped Myrcella with her homework or put a puzzle together with Tommen. And Jaime’d gotten the best blow job of his life after Joff had asked Jaime to help him with his lacrosse catch in the yard a few months before Robert had died. So long as Jaime wasn’t paternal enough to draw suspicion, she was beyond pleased. And now she had gone as far as to move Jaime into her home. 

“I believe that **I** was the one to bring Joffrey to heel that morning. You were more concerned with your sister’s hysterics than you were with getting Joffrey ready for his speech,” Tywin drawled. The look in his eyes was no longer a glare which could scorch Jaime should he push his father too far, but rather seemed more like a pan of simmering oil, ready to spit and crack should Jaime be fool enough to scatter cold water into the pan. 

But naturally, Jaime intended to push his father further. “Then by all means, you move in and _bring Joffrey to heel_, as you put it. We both know how you adore children.” 

There it was. As anticipated, Tywin’s temper flared once more, a bath of oil spitting in every direction looking to burn though the only indication was the flash in his eyes. “And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean? You are my child. Have you decided to adopt your brother’s grievance that I didn’t coddle you enough, didn’t pat you on the head and give you a lolly for being a good boy? 

“I wasn’t your child,” Jaime cut off as Tywin’s lips curled into a snarl. 

“Oh and whose child were you?”

“I wasn’t your child. I was your _heir_,” Jaime replied, watching his father carefully for a reaction. 

His father’s expression turned to stone before Jaime’s eyes. “And as my _heir_ you will go to Dorne, as I have asked you.”

“I _will go to Dorne._” Jaime dropped his voice and puffed out his chest before letting his breath out with a laugh. “That’s not asking, Father. That’s telling. Just as I am telling you that I will _not_ go to Dorne.” He stepped toward his father, standing eye to eye with the man. “Family is what matters. It is the family name that lives on-”

“Oh, so that lecture you decided to finally pay attention to.” Tywin’s scoff and the roll of his eyes attempted to disguise his snarl. He was not accustomed to being defied, much less repeatedly. Tywin Lannister’s word was supposedly law, but these current proclamations would not be the first laws that Jaime had broken in his life. “It is for this family that you will go to Dorne. It is for this family that your sister will remarry. You are my son. It is not your place to tell me what will best serve this family’s interests.” 

Jaime watched his father and decided to make one final push. “You are my father. For that I owe you my love, but not my obedience. If sons owed their fathers absolute obedience, then you would not have defied yours, would not have taken the reins of this family from him. You want me to be like you? Defying my father when he is being foolish is the most you like things that I could possibly have done. You think Joffrey is unruly now? Have Cersei marry again and send someone in to play at being his stepfather. Better yet, send me to Dorne and leave Renly to whisper in his ear, convince him to do things for Robert’s ghost. Watch Renly and Stannis whisper in his ear how much Robert hated Cersei, you already let the boy see Robert hitting her, and you wonder why he doesn’t listen to her.” Now that the words had started to roll from his tongue, Jaime couldn’t stop himself. “Go ahead and let Renly and Stannis in to whisper in his ear. Let them turn Joffrey to them in ways that Robert was never loyal to you and-” Jaime finally cut himself off as he realized the truth of Cersei’s plans. He ought to have seen it sooner. Joffrey would take Robert’s seat, and they would guide him, they would rule through him. It was the closest that Cersei would get to having any real power of her own. 

“And what? By all means, continue,” Tywin said, breaking the veil of distraction that had settled over Jaime’s thoughts as he worked out Cersei’s plans. She was using him because she couldn’t wrangle Joffrey on her own. Like with Lancel, she was making plans without him again. Consenting to Tywin’s wish to send him to Dorne would teach her a lesson, would teach her to stop making plans that didn’t include him. At least he hoped that it would. She wanted him to rule with her, but she didn’t want to consult him. She wanted to rule through him as much as she planned to rule through Joffrey. No doubt she fancied herself as skilled of a chess master as Tywin. In a way, she was. She’d lured him into this confrontation with Tywin. The only escape from Tywin’s chess board was onto Cersei’s it seemed. 

Jaime looked at his father who was watching him expectantly. True, it was sweet to have Cersei in his bed each night, but the confections which she offered him had suddenly left him with an upset stomach. He ought to go to Dorne to spite her, but then what things might his sweet sister do in return to spite him? Cersei could be a hateful woman; it was one of the reasons that Jaime loved her, though perhaps not in that moment. Still, it was Tywin’s chess board or hers. Though she might have been a hateful, manipulative woman, she was still his sweet Cersei. Jaime would force her lips and tongue to make sweet music of apologies as he made clear to her what tunes of hers he would and would not dance to. 

“And I’m not going to bloody Dorne,” Jaime snapped. Then he spun on his heel and left, intent on having heated words with his sister.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, yes, that picture. You did tell me that you’d gotten wet during a dip in the pool. You didn’t tell me that you needed anything except implying that perhaps you required a towel. Shall I fetch one for you?” So he was determined in the type of game that he wanted, or at least Cersei thought that he was. She was prepared to indulge him, but he spoke again before she got the chance. “You know, I got that picture as I was leaving Father’s.” His breath was hot against her ear, and Cersei’s eyes went wide. “He demanded that I go to Dorne on some errand or other.” She nearly headbutted him with the way that her head whipped around, all thoughts of an afternoon dalliance forgotten. Jaime could not go to Dorne. She would not accept that. She would not allow that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S NOT BETA READ PLS FORGIVE ME. There's probs a lot of typos fml. I had wanted to update this on Sunday, I'd mentioned doing so on twitter, but....well, best laid plans and all of that.

Cersei’s slender leg glistened with tanning oil as she stretched beside the pool. It wasn’t the only part of her that glistened in the afternoon sunlight. She’d opted to forgo putting anything other than oil on her body the moment that she’d dismissed all of the servants for the afternoon. It wasn’t as though there were any neighbors to worry about, and Robert had been sure that there were no cameras within the house or grounds; cameras might have captured any of the times that he’d hit her. Robert could deny a bruise, claim that he’s been too rough in bed and she bruised too easily, but he’d never have been able to explain away footage of him hitting her; he could rewrite his memory in ways that he couldn’t refute a tape. Since he’d died, Cersei hadn’t seen fit to install cameras in the home. She had argued that with Jaime there, she had no need to fear for her safety. What she hadn’t said was that with Jaime there, the cameras would have actually posed more of a risk. 

If anyone was to have a tape of her and Jaime, she thought it ought to be them. Other people didn’t get to see them, not like that. Jaime had convinced her to let them make a tape of them once. But years later she’d destroyed it after catching him watching it too many times. It had been a bout of post-delivery insecurity after Myrcella had been born. Cersei hadn’t bounced back quite as quickly as she would have liked and she’d taken Jaime’s frequent viewing of the tape that they’d made as teenagers as his longing for the body that she’d had as a teen. 

Looking down at her breasts now, Cersei still missed how firm they’d been when she was a teen. Three children had that effect though. She remembered that once Robert had asked if she would consider breast implants (though Cersei’s breasts were already ample enough that many had accused her of surgical enhancement already). He had suggested, in a crowded room no less, that it would be a birthday present that she ought to give to him. Then Cersei had taken the kids to Casterly Rock for nearly 2 months before Jon Arryn had forced Robert to come and apologize. He’d all but dragged her husband in by the ear, like some petulant child. Jaime had never complained. He’d never asked her to get implants. And, after she’d destroyed the tape, rather than bemoan the loss of the footage of her youthful body, he’d simply asked her to record another one, to send him videos of her. It was almost as though he didn’t notice that time had ravaged her body. He seemed as hungry for her as ever. 

She wished he was home now so that she could sate that hunger. It was a hunger that she too felt, now that she’d been recalling the tape and reminiscing about the ways in which Jaime continually adored every inch of her. Cersei wanted to touch herself, but there were other matters to take care of first. She walked to the pool and splashed some water on her legs before returning to her chaise. Once seated, she positioned her legs to show how long they were, how they gleamed with the oil and water, and snapped a photo to send to Jaime. “I’m wet.” was all the caption had said. It wasn’t exactly the most discrete of messages, but there would be at least some deniability should the exchange between them be witnessed by anyone else. All she had to do was give him a little room to deny their relationship should someone else see his phone, just a little. 

He didn’t respond, which Cersei took to mean that he couldn’t, so she busied herself with trying to handle matters herself. Jaime’s hand was so much better. For one thing, when Cersei had gotten her last manicure, it had been with the idea that she wouldn’t have to resort to taking matters into her own hand. Nearly every time she got close to finishing, she’d touch herself the wrong way with one of her nails and nearly ruin it for herself. She grew ever more frustrated until she felt the warmth of someone else’s breath on the side of her neck. “Having a bit of trouble, are we?” Jaime whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. 

From what Cersei gathered, he was kneeling beside her chair, with one hand on her shoulder and the other tracing deliberately over her ribs. It surprised her that he’d managed to sneak up on her, and then it annoyed her as he’d likely seen her frustration; it wasn’t exactly the picture that she’d wanted him to come home to when she’d decided to lay by the pool “Go on then,” his voice, already somewhat husky, sent shivers down her spine. Jaime’s hand squeezed her thigh. “Go on then, Cersei, ask me to help you.” HIs fingers crept closer to her entrance and he nipped at the lobe of her ear.

He loved this game as much as Cersei loathed it. Jaime always wanted her to ask for help. Sometimes, she wondered if that was how he wanted her, weak and begging for his help. Sometimes, just to prove to herself that he liked her as she was just fine, Cersei did the opposite. Instead of asking him for help, she’d turn things around on him and demand action on his part, boss him right around. He seemed just as eager in those moments as he did when she laid on her back and beckoned him sweetly. And so, while doubt sometimes crept in to cloud her better judgment, she was nearly always able to dismiss it in a few moments. Jaime loved her. While he might have enjoyed the occasional game from time to time where Cersei played a certain role for him (he’d always lamented that she’d never joined the cheerleading squad so he’d never gotten to see her in a proper cheerleading uniform and in his mind, the ones purchased from the internet simply didn’t fit the fantasy that he’d had in his head. He was, however, very fond of her high school tennis uniform), he always wanted her as she truly was at the end of their little games. She could play the simpering school girl for him or the overbearing boss, but at the end of the day, it was Cersei Lannister that he wanted most of all.

It seemed that today he wanted a touch of simpering, and Cersei decided that she could give it to him. With conditions of course. “I sent you that picture, didn’t I?” she crooned. She spread her legs apart slightly, trying to entice his hand to move, but it did not stray. 

“Ah, yes, that picture. You did tell me that you’d gotten wet during a dip in the pool. You didn’t tell me that you needed anything except implying that perhaps you required a towel. Shall I fetch one for you?” So he was determined in the type of game that he wanted, or at least Cersei thought that he was. She was prepared to indulge him, but he spoke again before she got the chance. “You know, I got that picture as I was leaving Father’s.” His breath was hot against her ear, and Cersei’s eyes went wide. “He demanded that I go to Dorne on some errand or other.” She nearly headbutted him with the way that her head whipped around, all thoughts of an afternoon dalliance forgotten. Jaime could not go to Dorne. She would not accept that. She would not allow that.

Apparently, this reaction was exactly what Jaime had expected. He artfully dodged her quick turn and he pulled away from her, a smirk on his lips but his eyes did not sparkle with any trace of amusement. Neither did Cersei’s, not anymore. The game was over and a new one, one with higher stakes, had taken its place. 

“You’re not going to Dorne.” Cersei responded. Jaime couldn’t go to Dorne. Joffrey was unruly, still believing himself to be under the yolk of Robert’s wishes and expectations, but he had been slightly better, if only at times, since’s Jaime’s arrival. Granted, there were times that he lashed out worse than ever now, but Cersei conveniently forgot those moments as she sat in her chair sitting at Jaime and focused only on the far more common moments when Joffrey was placated in Jaime’s presence. Besides, even if she did recall them, Myrcella and Tommen had never been happier than when Jaime was there. Cersei too was happier, happier than she could recall ever being now that she got to fall asleep in Jaime’s arms at night, her children satisfied with her explanation of nightmares. “You’re not going to Dorne.” She wasn’t going to lose the happiness that she’d taken for herself by finally getting rid of Robert. 

Jaime merely smiled at her. “It’s only a short trip.” he mused. With a knee, he nudged her so that she would make room for him on the chair. When Cersei didn’t budge, he took matters into his own hands and pushed his way onto the chair as he pulled her on top of his lap. “A short trip to Dorne, to run a few errands for Father-”

“No.” Cersei said incredulously. She had plans for Jaime, plans that involved having him at her side. And she mistrusted their Father’s plans. For all she knew, this trip to Dorne was a fools’ errand and Jaime was being sent in the hopes that he might secure some wife. He wouldn’t. Jaime would never. He’d been devoted to her for this long, and, though he’d made noises that he might take a wife when she’d married Robert, he never had. Jaime was hers. Perhaps that was why it was all the more infuriating that he would simply do Tywin’s bidding. “You’re not going. I need you here.” Cersei didn’t like admitting this fact now any more than she’d liked saying it when they were in the midst of some silly sex game, but there was a possibility of losing him to Tywin’s scheme if she didn’t act quickly. 

For a moment, Jaime’s eyes held hers, unblinking, unyielding as they seemed to search her for something. Either he had found it, or he had simply decided to move on. “That’s precisely what I told Father.” he murmured. His hands moved then, skimming up and down her thigh. “I told him that ‘Cersei needs me’ and that I couldn’t abandon you.” His words might have put Cersei at ease if she didn’t know him better. The other shoe was about to drop, and he was merely trying to lure her into a false sense of security until then. 

Cersei would not fall for the trap. “And what did Father say?” she asked stiffly. 

As stoney as Cersei was, Jaime was fluid. His hands trickled down her thigh, trying to tease her enough to keep her wet. Traitor that it was, her body responded to his caress. “I didn’t tell Father about your little plan to rule through Joffrey and me, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

Cersei felt her temper spark. It was hardly a _little_ plan. _They_ would rule. Well, she would rule and Jaime would fulfill Joffrey’s need for the approval of a father figure enough to pacify him so that he bent to Cersei’s control rather than resist it in the name of Robert’s memory. Not that she intended to tell Jaime that. “We’re not ruling through him, but I thought that it was about time he have his real father to look up to, whether he knows it or not.” Cersei offered, hoping to placate Jaime enough that he would abandon whatever ulterior motive had sparked this conversation. “You can’t go to Dorne.”

“I’m not going to Dorne.” Jaime agreed, and Cersei felt slightly better for it, but the look in Jaime’s eyes prevented her from enjoying complete relief. She should have felt that the bullet was dodged, but something in Jaime’s tone kept her on edge. He didn’t seem particularly happy to be there, despite Cersei being naked and in his lap. “I don’t like when you use me as a game piece. If you want me to play ‘daddy’ all you had to do was ask. Tell me you want it. No one else calls me ‘daddy’ but if you want me to play it, perhaps you ought to.” 

Cersei tried to push away from him in disgust, but he held her firmly in his lap, leaving her to squirm against him. This was not something that he’d ever asked of her, nor was it anything that she was in the mood to grant him. Though, it didn’t particularly seem to excite him either as Cersei had done quite a bit of squirming and he was only half as hard as he usually would have been. Still, she huffed in annoyance all the same. “I said that I needed you. I want you. Isn’t that enough?” Cersei said, somewhat petulantly. She didn’t like this conversation, it was becoming dangerously close to requiring her to voice actual insecurities, actual doubts as they related to her ability to control her children. She might not have minded voicing such to her twin under ordinary circumstances, but the way that he had approached her, the way that he held her now, all made her think that he intended to use such things against her. 

Jaime held her gaze for a second. “You want to rule. You want me to play a part in managing Joffrey so that you can commandeer his power as you never did Robert’s.” She could have had Robert’s. All she would have had to do was simper and dote after him. Robert turned to his whores for affection. Sure, he never would have kept to one bed, but had Cersei put more effort into being sweet to him, he would have been easier to keep in line. Unfortunately, Cersei could not stomach such a charade, especially when such a charade would have cost her Jaime.

“You don’t want to rule.” It was a statement. They both knew that it was true, but somehow, inexplicable to Cersei, the response seemed to irritate Jaime. “You don’t. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I don’t want to be used either.” 

She let out another huff of annoyance. “I’m using you am I? _Daddy?_” she said incredulously and tried to break free again. 

He held her, locked her down against him. “For fucks sake, I wasn’t serious about that.” Jaime grunted, confirming, to Cersei’s relief, that his time with the children hadn’t caused him to develop some new kink that she did not share. Could anything have been more tragic than Jaime developing some need to fulfill in the bedroom that disgusted her? Thank the gods that such a calamity had been avoided. 

“But you seriously think that I _use_ you?” Cersei scoffed. She tried to turn so that she could face him, and to her surprise, Jaime let her, though now her body was uncomfortably contorted. 

“I think you don’t tell me all the things that go on in that pretty little head of yours. You didn’t tell me of your plans with Robert and you didn’t tell me of your plans for Joffrey. “What else might my sweet sister be concealing from me?”

Cersei turned back around, the stretch getting too difficult to maintain. For good measure, she dropped her weight against his chest in one go, and was rewarded with his soft grunt. “As I’m sure you can see, I’ve no sleeves to hide anything.” She’d never been intending to hide her agenda from him, not really. It was simply that he had no wish to rule. Why share with him her plans to slowly siphon power? Did she now have to discuss with him what motivated her choices in shoes?

“Ah, but my sweet Cersei is a master of misdirection. You so deliciously lay yourself out as a feast for me, to distract me.”

“Oh, so are you Tommen and you think that this is my way of convincing you to eat your vegetables?” Jaime let out a slight chuckle, a clear sign that whatever else he thought, he could be made to forget whatever indiscretion he imagined that she’d committed. “You think that I’m trying to manipulate you into doing what I want with my body? Did it ever occur to you that I simply like when you fuck me? That it feels good when you’re inside me.” The fact that she could feel Jaime become as hard as steel beneath her signalled that she was coming ever closer to ending this quarrel. 

“Hmmmm, he doesn’t eat them by the way. He eats the cheese off of them and when your back is turned, Myrcella eats them. She eats Joffrey’s too, to keep him quiet. When you leave the table to have that glass of wine in the bathroom so that the kids don’t realize how much wine you drink.” The revelation startled Cersei, as did Jaime’s cavalier delivery of it. She sat frozen as Jaime began kissing the side of her neck, shocked that he knew what she was doing. “All these things that you think that you’re hiding from me. Fortunately I suppose you’re better at keeping us a secret? Though, perhaps it would be best if you didn’t divide your efforts by trying to conceal your plots from me. As you can see, I find out about them eventually. All your talk of ruling together and what not and yet you hide these plans from me? I know you too well, Cersei” He laughed again, causing Cersei to roll her eyes.

“You don’t want to rule-”

“That doesn’t mean that I want you keeping secrets. I’d like to decide my role in your little schemes for myself rather than simply have the part assigned for me. You know how well I adapt to the roles that Father tries to cast me in. Though, I suppose you’re hardly Father,” He didn’t mean it as an insult, but it annoyed Cersei all the same. She sulked slightly, her shoulders hunching against his chest. “Oh come off it.” he murmured, seeming to sense her annoyance. “Trying to manipulate me to do what you want, doesn’t work. Though I do appreciate coming home to find you naked and ready to try.”

His fingers trailed up her thigh once again. Then his fingers reached the place where her thigh met her hip. His lips were at her ear again, but instead of pointing out that he had observed far more than Cersei realized, all he did was kiss her here and there as his hands pulled her legs further apart. He started to tease her then, leaving her as frustrated as she had been when she’d been trying to use her own hand. 

Jaime knew where to stroke, how much pressure to use. This was deliberate on his part, she knew. Jaime knew how to make her finish and he was deliberately denying this to her. Eventually, she let out a groan and tried to grab his hand to direct it, but he curled his fingers into a fist. “No. We’ve been playing it your way rather than work together.” Was what he said, but Cersei could have sworn that she felt a wet spot on his trousers, though he was still hard which meant he hadn’t finished, that he was just getting ready to. “See what happens when we keep each other in the dark?” When Cersei only groaned in response, he continued. “Tell me that you’re going to stop keeping secrets from me.” When Cersei didn’t response, he pinched her thigh with slick fingers, not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to make her grunt in annoyance that he wasn’t helping her to finish. Pride held her tongue, but Jaime worked to loosen it by teasing her clit, not enough to get her off, he always stopped when Cersei was close, always stopped just short of letting her finish. 

He always stopped until -Cersei didn’t know how much time had passed, but she couldn’t take anymore and she acquiesced. “No more secrets.” Cersei gasped. To her annoyance, Jaime still kept her on the edge of finishing. Finally, he whispered in her ear, urging her declaration to be louder. Desperate to finish, Cersei complied, and her words quickly became a groan as Jaime fingered her until she finished on top of him. 

She lay panting on top of him, feeling his cock still hard beneath her. “Can you walk to bed, or do you need me to carry you?” he whispered. After a moment, perhaps seconds, he either took her gasps for an answer, or decided that he didn’t wish to wait for one, and merely scooped her up from where she’d been on top of him on the chair and carried her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you guys enjoyed this! As always, comments and kuddos feed my Libra sun <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it was. Margaery was an ambitious little trollop, but Cersei didn’t think that she was particularly clever. Certainly not as clever as Cersei fancied herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! I'm sorry that it's been a while. I've had a lot going on. Hopefully you guys all enjoy this chapter. It has not been beta read, so please forgive any mistakes.

“You two look like such a lovely couple!” The so-called Queen of Thorns said, but Cersei had tuned the woman out long ago, within minutes of arriving at the boring brunch. It was some ladies’ lunch for some charity or another that Cersei had forgotten the name of before the ink had even dried on the check that she’d had to write to gain entry to the event that she hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place. Thousands of dollars had been spent on shitty wine and worse company. Cersei would have never attended the event if Tywin had not insisted. As she sat there, bored, her father’s only solution was that she take a more active role. His response to her texts was simply to tell her that she should get more involved so that she would be able to plan the next event to be more to her liking. Jaime’s suggestion was that she simply leave. He sent pictures of her bed, of his cock, the wine in the cellar, anything that he could think of, it seemed, that might entice her to leave and spend the afternoon with him whilst the children were in school. Tempting as the offer was, no matter how many texts that Jaime sent, Cersei knew that ultimately it would be Tywin’s suggestions that she would heed. 

Cersei shifted in her crimson sheath dress and put her phone away with a sigh and looked at Olenna. “What two?” Cersei asked, trying not to let her disinterest show. She tried to compose her face to appear invested, but then she saw that Ollena had a newspaper open to a photograph of her and Jaime along with the children. It was a good photograph. Under different circumstances, Cersei might have framed it. Tommen sat on Jaime’s shoulders as he and Tommen Joined Cersei and Myrcella, standing beside him, in cheering Joffrey on as Joff caught a pass in a recent lacrosse game. Cersei would have loved to turn the photograph into a painting, but given Olenna’s tone, she knew that she could not. 

Margaery, Olenna’s irritating niece, served only to confirm this. The brunette leaned forward, her plae blue dress displaying enough clevage when she leaned in that Cersei thought that MArgaery might have confused her for a man to manipulate through sex. “Honestly, Loras and I look more like twins than you and Jaime do!” the brunette laughed and Cersei battled the urge to scoop her eyes out with the teaspoon that was currently resting in Cersei’s saucer. She could do it. She could thrust her spoon in and pry Margaery’s eyes from their sockets. It would be easy. She and Loras would not look so much alike then, unless of course Cersei were to do the same to him. “You look wonderful together to be sure. Sometimes I truly do forget that you’re even siblings!” Margaery continued to simper and Cersei imagined a thousand different ways that she could end the little twit. After the eyes she’d rip her tongue from her mouth and feed it to the Queen of Thorns so that the old woman would choke on it.

There was silence for a beat and Cersei realized that they were expecting her to respond. “Jaime has been very involved since Robert died. I suppose someone has to be. Stannis is too busy whispering with Ned Stark and Renly is too busy whispering with your brother, though I doubt they whisper the same sort of things.” Cersei let that linger for a moment, just long enough that the Tyrell woman would understand her meaning if they were as clever as people thought, but not so long that anyone else seated with them noticed much of a pause. “One of my jewelers tells me that Renly has paid him several visits of late. I dare say that soon there shall be another _couple_ on the covers of the papers.” It was so funny that Cersei nearly had to laugh. She and Jaime could never be a couple, no one would truly suspect that they were a couple while Margaery and Renly would fool everyone into believing that they were a couple though they would likely never share more than a kiss. What would Margaery get from the arrangement, Cersei wondered. It was clear what Renly would get, a wife to smile in photos and turn a blind eye to his relationship with her brother. What would Margaery gain though? When Cersei had married Robert, she’d gained status and a cuckold, but surely Margaery didn’t need someone to father her children on paper, and the elevation of status couldn’t possibly be incentive enough to mount the charade. Could it?

Perhaps it was. Margaery was an ambitious little trollop, but Cersei didn’t think that she was particularly clever. Certainly not as clever as Cersei fancied herself. Perhaps that would render her content to merely enjoy the elevation of status that would come with marrying Renly. Or perhaps she would not be content with simply marrying Renly, but rather marrying Renly and steering him toward trying to fill Robert’s seat instead of Joffrey. Yes, that seemed more likely, though it wasn’t something that Cersei would allow. If Margaery dared to go after Joffrey, Cersei would do more than see to it that her eyes were removed. 

To her credit, Margaery blushed when she ought to blush and smiled how she ought to in light of Cersei’s words. Cersei remembered when she had to concern herself with such behaviors when Robert had been courting her. Well, Robert had never really courted her. Everything had been arranged by her father and Jon Arryn, but she and Robert had been left to sell a love story to the public. Cersei remembered thanking Robert for sending flowers that it turned out had been sent by Jon Arryn. She remembered receiving jewels that had been picked out by none other than her father. And she remembered needing to blush and smile during the press events in spite of those facts, to praise Robert for the gifts that he was supposedly to have lavished upon her, but in reality he had often never seen before. It was for the best really. The one piece that he had picked himself was her gaudy monstrosity of an engagement ring. It had been a relief once she could stop wearing the thing in favor of the wedding band that she’d chosen herself. Margaery would have an easier time of it; if nothing else, because Renly could at least pick out jewelry himself.

“Has Renly been picking out jewelry? I wasn’t aware.” Margaery simpered, and Cersei fought the urge to toss her wine into the brunette’s face at the lie. Of course Margaery would know that Renly was looking at rings. No doubt Loras was whispering in his ear at night to try to speed the process along. It could get a good deal of press if they timed it correctly, and good press could be used to try to position Renly as Robert’s heir or as the person best suited to guiding Joffrey. It seemed that Cersei was going to have to intervene. Perhaps she would grant one of the many requests for an interview. Until now, she’d refused them; she loathed the idea. Still, perhaps an interview where she made a bigger deal of her grief would delay an engagement which would have furthered support for Renly over Joffrey. She needed something to give her time to allow Joffrey to start doing things which would win him support so that the people would not be so fond of the idea of Renly serving in Joffrey’s stead. She would see to that in the near future, but for now, Cersei had to be present for the blasted brunch. 

She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and forced a smile. “He has. Perhaps you ought to send me some ideas as to your preferences so that he doesn’t buy you something that you dislike.” Cersei confirmed through her teeth; it was a relief that no one expected her to appear too happy considering that she was meant to be grieving. 

Unfortunately, she ought to have chosen her words more carefully. Olenna seized upon the opportunity that Cersei had foolishly served up on a platter. “Like the ring that Robert gave you!” the old woman scoffed. Cersei channeled her irritation into a look of skepticism, though it did not stop the Queen of Thorns. “It always looked to me like Robert bought whichever ring was most expensive without even looking at it.” Cersei’s eyes flashed as it occurred to her that Olenna might not be referring to the ring, but to Cersei herself to some degree. Still, if that was what she’d meant, she didn’t stop to see if Cersei had comprehended as much. “He never had taste.” the woman continued and Cersei was forced to try to pretend that she had not just been insulted. Of course Robert had never had taste, but at least he had been smart enough to go along with Jon Arryn’s plans and he’d married Cersei. 

“It was a family ring.” Cersei responded, twisting the monstrosity on her finger. She’d long ago invented that lie and seeing as Robert had never actually paid enough attention to what he’d given her, he’d easily gone along with it. In fact, she was fairly certain that Robert had once claimed that it had in fact belonged to her mother. Hand-me-downs were usually a slight to a Lannister, but not when it came to jewelry. Jaime would never have given her such a disaster. In fact, Jaime would have preferred if she would stop wearing the eyesore all together. Jaime would have happily replaced both rings on her finger. Cersei knew that he resented them. She always made sure to take them off the moment that she returned to the privacy of her car or her home, well before Jaime made his way to her bedroom at night. Jaime would have given her a ring far more suited to her taste, but of course, she could not admit such a thing in front of Olenna. Then an idea occurred to her and the smile on her face actually started to become more genuine, if more sinister. She had to fight the urge to laugh. Cersei cleared her throat and then took a sip of her mimosa to give her lips something else to do as she composed herself. 

When she set the drink down it was to a raised eyebrow of the Queen of Thorns. “I was just thinking of one time that Robert thought that I lost it. It was such a funny memory.” Cersei said, still amused by her own cleverness. She’d give her ring to Renly. Robert had said that it was a family ring and Renly, having only been a baby when his mother had died, wouldn’t know enough to dispute it. Stannis might, but the ring would be on Margaery’s finger long before it came to that. Even if Renly didn’t wish to give the ring to Margaery, he could hardly refuse his sister-in-law, the grieving widow. And then, if he did try to marry the Tyrell girl, every interview they gave would include a healthy amount of talk about Cersei and how _generous_ she had been, how _selfless_. She’d never have to wear the ugly creation again. Instead Margaery would! It was a thought far more delicious than the poor excuse for eggs Benedict in front of her. 

“Well, do tell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a funny story, let alone one about Robert.” Olenna said, a smug expression on her wrinkled face. Still, it wasn’t enough to dampen Cersei’s good mood.

She shrugged and then smiled. Olenna Tyrell would not corner her. “Not with all of these cameras around. I’d hate for someone to take something out of context.” she said, taking another sip of her drink. 

Olenna did not allow Cersei to simply make her excuses. “That’s alright dear. Take it from one delighted widow to another: you ought to have some lie ready for situations like this one. Not everyone will let you get away with trying to buy yourself time.” Olenna’s said and then laid her hand on Cersei’s wrist. The blonde stared at it as if it was a fly that she was debating whether she ought to swat away. She waited only a moment before moving her arm slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry dear. Are you uncomfortable with affection? I sometimes forget that you never had a mother to guide you.” the old tart prattled on, but this time she stoked Cersei’s temper.

Blonde hair cascaded over Cersei’s shoulder as she tossed it to look at Olenna. “I had a mother. She died. My aunt, Genna, hardly replaced her, but I think that given your close relationship to your granddaughter, you can admit that mothers aren’t necessarily the most influential women in one’s life.”

Rather than be cut by the remark, Olenna laughed, only enraging Cersei further. “Yes, yes, I suppose I can admit that. But you’ve never had a mother figure. Come now, Genna_ hardly_ counts.” When Cersei met her gaze, the ice in Cersei’s eyes finally seemed to give Olenna pause. “Or perhaps she does. You Lannister’s know far more about counting than I do.” the old woman continued and a curious look passed between Olenna and Margaery. Cersei liked the look about as much as she liked this conversation.True, she and Genna were not as close as they had once been, but Genna was family; Cersei could trust Genna more than she could trust the woman before her. She was called the Queen of Thorns, but thus far Cersei considered her to be more of a weed. A weed that Cersei would rip out by the root and burn to see that it would never come back again. It would take time, but she would see it done. She would set MArgaery to wither and burn in Cersei’s own sunlight and then she would see to it that Olenna withered and died without her young niece to leech off of. They would both be gone from Cersei’s life, for ever daring to think that they could try to move against her. Cersei would see to that.

Cersei rose then, a little unsteady in her stilettos from all the wine, but she managed to force her face into a stony look. “I think that I ought to make the rounds you know.” Say ‘hello’ to enough people that she could then leave to enact her plans with Renly.She’d need a witness there when she gave him the ring. It would need to be someone that Renly couldn’t refuse her in front of, but not someone as obvious as a journalist, though Cersei of course intended to leak the story the moment that she convinced Renly to take the ring. She couldn’t call Jaime for such a task. Pycelle either. She would need someone that wouldn’t seem a Lannister loyalist, but also someone that would go along with her story.   
It was then that Cersei spied another young woman at the brunch. She wife the wife of an ambitious newcomer, and the perfect sort of target. Cersei smiled as she watched the woman flit from table to table, trying to charm everyone in the room. Yes, she would be perfect. “If yo’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Taena Merryweather. Us new members must stick together, mustn’t we?” Cersei announced with a smile before she slipped away to go and chat with the dark-haired beauty.


End file.
